Gone
by writerofourlives
Summary: When Cassidy, a senior in Florida, is dumped by her All-Star boyfriend Garret, whom she's dated for five years, she finds solace in her initiative to live with a distant Grandfather in Kentucky. Changing schools & homes proves it's harder than she thought
1. For Everything There is a Season

**For Everything There is a Season**

For everything there is a season,  
And a time for every matter under heaven:  
A time to be born, and a time to die;  
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  
A time to kill, and a time to heal;  
A time to break down, and a time to build up;  
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;  
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;  
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;  
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;  
A time to seek, and a time to lose;  
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;  
A time to tear, and a time to sew;  
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  
A time to love, and a time to hate,  
A time for war, and a time for peace.

~ Ecclesiastes 3:1-8


	2. Dedication Page

**Dedication Page**

To four very special people in my life:

Tia Hope Bostic, an amazing sister, who has helped, mentored, and showed me the importance of this crazy little thing called love. She has taught me that love is difficult, annoying on occasion, and at times overwhelming, but in that end, if it's true, it'll shine through. Thank you for loving me when I was un-loveable (during my grouchy spells and our constant fights), and for showing me the truth about love, that it isn't a feeling or an arrow from cupid, it's a decision. Thank you for choosing to love me.

~With Love,

Your Retard Buddy

Joe and Danny, some of the coolest guys who've been with me through one of the toughest heartbreaks so far; you've shown me comfort in letting me know that sorrow, rage, confusion, and hurt are normal in the break-up process. Thanks for being two of my many 'big brothers' throughout that situation, as I went through the motions, and for revealing to me the best idea on how to get over a hard break-up…Write a book about it.

~Forever Grateful and Indebted,

Kelsi Joy

And finally, to Canada, to whom I should like to say only these three words…

I forgive you.

~The One and Only Keai Bird


	3. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Although prepared for martyrdom, I preferred that it be postponed._

_- Sir Winston Churchill_

If you were to tell me that one day I'd find the love of my life and that he was Garret Atkinson, I would have told you, you were dead wrong. And if you were to tell me that one day we would have dated for five consecutive years, I would've thought you were crazy. But, if you were to tell me that Garret Atkinson, this supposedly 'love of my life' was going to dump me at the beginning of my senior year in high school, I would have requested that it be about time that I drove you to a mental facility A.S.A.P.

Never in my wildest dreams had it ever occurred to me that any of the assumptions above could ever come true. Garret Atkinson was one of the most gorgeous boys on the high school soccer team. His genetic make up was handsome, muscular, smart, and sweet; overall, he was 100% man, well at least the kind us high school girls only dreamed of. Garret had black hair that was styled just like all the other popular boys in the school. Beneath his hair, his gorgeous hazel eyes stood out, putting every girl that dared to look in them into a trance. His eyes were my favorite part about him; they were a green speckled with black and brown.

It was at that moment, when he asked me to be his girlfriend in middle school, that I noticed the beauty in his eyes alone. The way they gazed down at me through the locks of his beautiful black hair that made me want to melt. The manner in which he said my name, and how I didn't pay much attention to anything else as I stared into his eyes. How every time he hugged me or gently took hold of my hand my heart fluttered, so much that I was unable to think properly. Now looking back, I realize that when he looked at me with those piercing eyes, I shouldn't have been thinking about how beautiful they were, but about how much it would hurt if they never wanted to look back at me. And when he went to hold my hand, I shouldn't have been thinking about how difficult it was for me to breathe, but about how difficult it would be for me to let it go when he began to pull away.

When the gently spoken words rolled off his tongue, I shouldn't have been thinking about those fairytales, where the prince sweeps the ash-covered Cinderella off her feet –when he married her just because he loved her-, but about how difficult it would be for me to let him go, when I was no longer what he wanted.


	4. CH1 Broken

**Broken**

_You don't die from a broken heart—you only wish you did._

_-Anonymous_

Garret, my cell phone pulsated, while displaying the name of my caller on the fingerprint-smudged screen. I felt jumpy. The Indian outfit I was wearing swayed subtly at my knees as I paced nervously around my room. I was patiently waiting for my younger brother, Dougie, to get dressed for an evening of cowboys and Indians, when my cell rang. I withheld a squeal of joy as I pushed open the phone and moved the receiver to my ear.

"Hello," I spoke as calmly as possible.

"Cassidy, can you come meet me really quick?" His tone was business like; none of the usual flirty edge was in his voice.

"Uh, yeah sure," I shook my head, confused as to why he was acting this way. "Where?"

"The usual place," he muttered seriously.

"Okay," I nodded my head. "See you soon."

He hung up.

In a rush, I put the phone in my pocket, grabbed the brown cloth purse off my desk chair, and grabbed Garret's soccer jacket off my bed. I slipped my shoes on over my plain white socks.

"Mom? Dad?" I yelled up the stairs before running out the door.

"Yeah?" My mom yelled back down to me.

"I'm meeting Garret, I'll be back in a little bit. 'Kay?"

"Okay,"

"Bye," I called, running out the door.

A gusty wind blew my hair into a tangled mess, as I ran down the front steps and jumped into my ancient green Mercedes. It was winter here in Florida, and slightly cold… for Florida weather that is. I shivered beneath the thick sports jacket, when I hit the cloth seat and started the car. It took a few minutes, but soon enough the car became cozy and warm. Slowly, I pulled out of my street and onto the main road. I knew it wouldn't take long for me to reach my destination, so I didn't bother to put in a CD to entertain me. As I drove down the lonesome winding road, I tried not to let his tone from earlier bother me; he was probably just agitated. For the whole five-minute drive, I began reassuring myself, everyone was entitled to bad days, right?

Through my windshield, I could see a park coming into view. I slowed and turned into the miniature parking lot, parking a few spots down from a familiar silver Lexus. The lot was vacant except for our two cars, and the playground was like a ghost town. Reluctantly, I cut my car off and made my way over to the Lexus. I opened the passenger side and hopped in. It was so toasty and warm inside Garret's car that I slid out of his jacket, relaxing like I usually did when he was around.

"Hey," I grinned, looking over at his stiff figure.

He didn't respond, or even look at me for that matter, just stared out the windshield.

Unmoving.

"Garret," I turned my figure in the seat towards his, so I was facing him. "What's wrong?"

He heaved a perturbed sigh.

"Garre—,"

"Cassidy, I don't…I don't know how to say this… This, I mean this," he moved his hands pointing from himself to me. "Isn't going to work out."

"What're you talking about? There's nothing wrong with this—."

"I wasn't referring to our situation right now, but our relationship…together."

I stayed silent. His subject had caught me off guard; I didn't know how to respond.

"I just don't know how long this can go on…We can't be together forever." He struggled.

"Whatever you're trying to say, just say it." I mumbled, without looking up from the hands in my lap.

"I think we should break up." He stopped. "Let me rephrase that, I want to break up."

I stayed silent for a few moments. In the back of my mind, I believed this all to be a joke, all the while waiting for Garret to begin laughing and reassure me that it was all a prank.

He didn't.

"What did I do wrong?" Still partially in shock, my thoughts spoke themselves.

'"It's not that—." He moved his hand to his brow and massaged his forehead. "Don't take this the wrong way, not like that at least."

"What happened then?" I pressed; looking up at him as his words began to set in. "Is there someone else? Something I did wrong?"

He looked up at the roof and shook his head, laughing callously.

"No, no, you just don't get it, do you?" He began to yell heatedly, it silenced me. "I don't want to be in this relationship anymore! I just want out! I want away from you! I don't feel the same as I did in middle school! Gosh Cass, things change! What, did you actually think this would last? And what then, we would get married; a little daydream of yours maybe?"

I shook my head and slowly began to cry. He did his best not to look at me and gripped the steering wheel.

"I don't mean to be harsh; I don't want to hurt you. I still love you, but you'll thank me for this later. You would've been wanting out to, same as me, all in good time."

"So what you're saying is I've trapped you?" I screamed back, my anger level boiled as tears began to fall faster. "Sorry to have tortured you all these years, I must've put you through so much, since apparently I'm one of the most terrible people to walk the earth! I don't know how you survived putting up with me for five whole years!"

He reached his arm around me and opened the door.

"Get out."

I slid out of his car, jacket in hand, and leaned into the car before slamming the door shut.

"Here," I threw the jacket at him. "You might want to burn that, you know, just in case any of my 'hostility' lingers on it." I then slammed the door.

Briskly, I walked to my car, in hopes that if I got it started fast enough; I could take out the back end of his perfect car. The tears that came rolling down my cheeks cooled quickly, but I barely noticed. The cold didn't both me as much as it had before; I was heated by my anger. I slammed my car door shut once inside, and let my head fall on the steering wheel in weakness. If Garret had really loved me, he wouldn't have done this. And if Garret hadn't done this, the heart which I'd given him would be breaking into nothingness.

I moved my hands up to my face sobbed when I'd thought up the conclusion to my statements. I moved a hand over my mouth to keep from letting the gasps of cries from escaping. So there I sat, alone in my car, with the truth staring me in the face.

If Garret had really loved me, this wouldn't be happening. Obviously, those five years together must have been nothing, because if my assumptions were true…he hadn't loved me at all.

***

It was October seventeenth, five years ago, and I was nervous as heck. Only yesterday, Garret had asked me to be his girlfriend right outside the middle school. Garret had insisted on meeting my parents, something he pressed throughout our –so far- one whole day of being 'together'. So there I was, bustling around my house as if I was about to have spasm cleaning everything in sight. He was supposed to drop by, since obviously he was in middle school his parents were going to drop him off, but this was not the part that worried me. I was completely content about the idea of Garret meeting my parents, I had complete one hundred percent faith in him, it was myself whom I was worrying about.

See, my mom has known his mom since the subdivision started their new annual Bunko crew, a very loud and speech-driven game, when I was in third grade. Every Friday, all the mom's within our enormous neighborhood used this game as an excuse to 'chitchat' and 'exchange ideas', in other words, they used that time to catch up on the gossip traveling around the subdivision. I knew very little about his parents besides what I learned whenever I wasn't kicked out of their special game, which is what gave me the feel of nervousness.

He had already planned everything. The only request I had about this was that it was at my house, so I could easily find a place to hide or something to do just incase something went horribly wrong. Instead of one of those meetings where just the boy comes in to meet the family, his parents were staying for dinner. Both of our families. All seven of us. At my house. Joy. It was going to be him and his parents, as well as mine, plus me and my little brother Dougie. I glanced at the clock. I had ten more minutes to clean and clear out anything and everything that might ruin this important evening, little brother included. After re-straightening a vase, that I had already fixed about six times now, I found my little brother in his wrinkled suit on the ground, fire tuck in hand.

"Okay, what are your manners?" I asked kneeling down in my black dress pants and sweater, brushing out his suit.

"Pweeze, fankyoo, mistur, and miss'." He grinned, two front teeth missing.

"That's good enough," I stood and hurried to another part of the house. "Mom, now remember, no embarrassing stories—!"

"Baby pictures or cheesy jokes." She recited to me for the ninth time this evening, while pulling a tray of rolls out of the oven. "Breathe honey," she laughed; I was going to hyperventilate. "It'll be fine. Now, take a seat before you fall over. It's not like we're going to chew the boy up and spit him out. I'm sure he's a great guy, especially if he's won our daughter over, he must be."

I sat at the bar for about three seconds before jumping up to stir the spaghetti noodles and check on the sauce. My mom put the rolls into a basket, then caught me out of the corner of her eye and slapped my hand.

"I mean it, out of the kitchen. Go!" I hesitated at the edge of the kitchen. "I meant it! Now!" She screamed and threw a towel at me.

Just as I tossed the rag back to her, the doorbell rang. I took in a deep breath and ran to the door. On the way to opening the door, my dad and I collided.

"Where's the fire?" he added sarcastically before reaching out to open the door in my place.

He put his arm on my shoulder and stood behind me, opening the door in one swift movement.

"Hey!" my dad grinned, holding the door open wide to welcome the small family inside.

First, his dad came in with a cheerful hello, follow by his mom, who immediately went into the kitchen to gossip, and last came Garret. My heart jumped as he smiled at me. My dad went on ahead to talk to Garret's father, leaving me to shut the door and try to think up a conversation starter.

"You look great." He gestured toward my outfit. "That's my favorite color on you."

I blushed, looking down at my cream sweater. When I'd finally thought up a response, I was sure my face was cherry red.

"Thanks, you don't look so bad yourself." He held his tan jacket open, revealing the white shirt, stripped with tan, cranberry, and brown. He wore his brown shoes, bringing the ensemble together.

"Yeah, I do look pretty good don't I?" he grinned.

About three hours and four embarrassing moments later, everyone was scattered about the house. The dad's, full from dinner, were in the living room watching the big game on TV, our mom's were in the kitchen, talking and doing dishes, leaving Garret and I with nothing to do, but go take a walk or watch Dougie play with his dinosaurs. We picked the walk. Before walking out the front door, I yelled a quick 'we're walking' to my dad who just waved us off.

It was chilly outside even beneath my thick sweater. Without really saying anything, Garret wrapped his coat around me and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, no," I handed it back to him. "I don't want you to get cold."

He looked at me shocked.

"I won't, I'm more concerned about you."

"I'm not going to have you getting a cold on my account." I shoved the jacket towards him more.

"You are the weirdest girl I think I've ever 'dated'." He laughed.

After about two seconds of silence, unexpectedly, he threw the jacket over my head and ran ahead of me. It took me a few moments to get out from under it, but when I had, he was already about fifteen yards down the street. I heaved an angry sigh and thrust my arms into the jacket. It slid over me easily, falling into place. It was big on me, but I didn't mind, it was warm, and it smelled just like him. As I watched his silhouette come closer, I saw him smile. The closer I came the more I could see his eyes. They sparkled in a way that I hadn't seen before; I knew it was special—that I was special, with just a simple glance into his eyes.

He put an arm around my shoulders as we continued our walk down the street. We didn't say anything, but that was alright with me. I was content just the way we were beneath the streetlights. Garret, the silence, and I walking down the road together, warm, as the aroma from his jacket floated in the autumn breeze.

***

Tear stains ran in lines down my cheeks, my lashes were damp and speckled with the salty water. Yesterday had been horrible. I spent the whole night reminiscing through now useless memories. What had happened to us? This once happy life felt like it was caving in. I rolled onto my side and glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand.

Five thirty in the morning.

I had thirty more minutes until I had to being getting ready for school. There was no point in going back to sleep. I would just end up with another nightmare about him, something I wanted to avoid. So, I just lay there dully, memorizing the patterns on my ceiling. I glanced back over at the clock. Five fifty-nine. At any moment the alarm would sound to tell me of the new day which has come. I groaned silently, and brushed the hair out of my eyes. I wasn't ready for another day, let alone a _school_ day. I hit the 'Off' button just as the alarm went off. I didn't want to move. All I wanted was to crawl beneath the warm covers and hide there for eternity. There was no way I was going to be able to go to school-let alone survive. So far, only three people knew of the break up, besides Garret and myself, I had called my three best friends, Dylan, Hal, and Marcus, later last night. In a way I felt sorry for them, being the type of people they were, they panicked and worried about me. Though I tried my best to put them at ease about the situation-they still overreacted.

I stood, grabbed a random pair of jeans and a t-shirt, before heading to the bathroom to fix my façade into something more presentable. The person I saw in the mirror was shocking. I did a little wave to the reflection just to be sure it was my own.

It was.

My eyes were a swollen red and my chocolate brown hair was all in disarray. Tear stains were clearly visible from my mirror image, the eyes they came from showed a painful sorrow hidden deeply beneath the cheerful front I presented. Quickly, I ran a brush through my hair and washed my red face. To my disappointment, the fresh version of me didn't look much better than the first. I brushed my teeth, returned to my room, and slung a heavy backpack in the corner, -filled with homework I did not even attempt- over my shoulder. On my way out of the room, I snagged a bright red hooded jacket off my desk chair and walked out the door.

I considered my red jacket my 'Comfort Jacket'. It was big on me, which I liked. I felt it covered and protected me from what ever was going on in the world, especially life. It held me and kept me warm. In a way, it was like a portable comfort blanket. I ate nothing for breakfast, but instead, put on 'Old Red', a name given to my comforter by the boys. I could see Marcus through the kitchen window; he was leaning up against his car, waiting for me. This was part of a schedule set up for me; the idea I cannot credit as my own. The boy's had created it amongst themselves, the only way they could think of helping me through this hard time, besides beating up Garret. I was against both ideas, but since I had to choose between the two, I chose the schedule.

I waved at the curly red head and ran outside to join him. After locking the door behind me, I hurried to his side, where he immediately embraced me in a tight hug.

"How ya doing Cass?" he spoke without releasing me from his grasp.

"Fine…" The word came out muffled, as I spoke into his hard chest.

Marcus is the quarterback for our football team, as well as the point guard for the basketball team. He's normally very serious and absolutely difficult to get a laugh, let alone a hug, out of. He has good grades, mostly A's and B's -perfectionist-, so he can stick with the sports, which he plans to get a scholarship on. What I like most about Marcus though, is that he can relate to anyone, which helps when something is really bugging you. Overall, he was basically my big brother.

I looked up at the six foot two boy and attempted to smile. I knew he could see through me easily, but was glad when he didn't mention it.

"I see you've got 'Old Red' with you." He poked my shoulder blade, making his point.

I nodded, while glancing down at my hands that gripped the sleeves of my jacket. He shook his arm to get the watch on his wrist out form underneath his varsity athlete jacket, and opened the passenger door for me.

Marcus kept the conversation limited by turning on the radio, loud enough to where conversation wasn't needed. He didn't bother me with useless questions, Marcus knew me well enough to know not to press anything. I sat on my feet in the seat and kept my gaze out the window, watching the trees fly by. My mind was scattered and lost amongst my memories.

As we pulled into the school's parking lot, I groaned. I was completely unprepared for the day. My emotions were muddled together, making it difficult for me to decide how I felt. Marcus stood from the car and helped me out. Slowly, we walked toward the school's double door. I already knew that I wouldn't be with Marcus for long since he had tutoring, which left me to handle the entire senior student body by myself. I kept a firm hold around my waist, hidden to look like I was clutching to my backpack strap, as I walked down the hall towards the gym.

I couldn't tell whether it was paranoia or if I was literally going insane, but it appeared that everywhere I went, people were watching me, whispering when my back was turned. Finally, when I entered the gym, I could feel the eyes of the student body glued to my back. When Garret and I were dating, I was used to it. Everyone knew him and envied me, but then I didn't care as much because I had an excuse. I was Garret's girlfriend, the royal pardon from all harmful gossip.

But, that was then; no longer was I Garret's girlfriend, but his ex, which gave everyone the right to talk. Meaning I was no longer royally pardoned, but royally exiled.

Executed.

I chuckled darkly. Executed was a much better word. It was as if the social vultures of the school were preying upon me, the next best gossip. I could hear a section of the gym go quiet, it might've been my imagination, but I believe I heard someone say 'that's her'. I kept my eyes away form the crowd and looked at the boy waiting by the bleachers for me.

A quick breath escaped my lips. I saw only Dylan. He stood still with his arms crossed over his newly developed chest. Once, there had been a time when he was just a wimp, the squirt. People always made fun of him because of his lanky appearance and his petite height, but right after ninth grade year; he shot up and bulked out. He was still a skinny teenager, but a skinny teen with visible muscles. No one has bothered him since, so weight lifting has became his hobby, it's just something he does to keep up appearance. Dylan is not as buff as Marcus is, he doesn't want to be that 'big', so he says, but I'm glad he's not. I knew enough muscle maniacs from when I was dating—well you know whom. He dyed his once bleach blonde hair to black and cut it to make jagged spikes over his head, in complete disorder. A lip ring lay on his bottom lip; Dylan got it on his sixteenth birthday.

He didn't always look the hard rock image though. He used to be the exact opposite, a footballer like Marcus, but when his mom died freshman year, well he's just never recovered. Dylan's dad was never really around. In a way, I felt bad for him; I knew he didn't want my pity. Even though we were friends, I felt useless as I watched him fall into bad company. Eventually, he started getting better, with the help of his 'clingy friends'; us. He smiled at me and I returned it.

"Hey Cassie Girl," My nickname; he put an arm around my shoulder and led me to a seat by Hal. "You, my friend, look like crap."

"Thanks," I frowned at him. "You know that's what every girl loves to hear from a boy, 'You look like crap'." I mimicked.

"Anytime," he laughed lightly to himself. "So do I get any rights to wail on the moron?"

I heaved a sigh and moved my free hand to massage my forehead.

"Not now, 'Kay, Dylan?"

"Alright, but one day I'm going to be alone with him," he grinned my favorite crooked smile. "I can't wait."

"Sure…" I sat next to Hal and smiled to the best of my ability.

"How are you?" he closed the laptop on he was holding, and slid it into a case that lay on the opposite side of him.

"Ask Dylan," I turned a dark look toward him.

"Like crap," he answered lightly.

"Fun," Hal nodded.

"I know right?" I replied while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Hal was in not to many words, a nerd. He was not like Marcus or Dylan, no muscles at all. He was gangly and tall, his golden hair kept short, if it became to long it just bothered him, at a buzz. Besides his nerdy appearance, he was a wiz at computers. If I ever had any problems with my Dell, he was the one I took it to for fixing; instead of the over-priced Radio Shack and he would do it free of charge, with tutoring on the side. But, beyond his appearance and all AP courses, he was just like the other two, sarcasm and all.

The conversation ended there. Neither of them bothered me, and I was glad for it. I didn't like harassing them with my problems, because that is exactly what they were _my_ problems. Eventually, my eyes began searching the gym for Garret, he wasn't there, probably off with his other soccer friends in the weight room, high-fifing each other about how he finally dumped the social outcast. I grimaced at the image of him in my mind, and clutched my waist harder. As if to awaken me from my thoughts, the bell rang and students began filing out of the gym. I begrudgingly followed the crowd with my friends by my side, as I walked on to face what was to be the longest day of my life.


	5. CH2 Going Through the Motions

**Going Through the Motions**

"_Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet."  
-__William Shakespeare _

The next few weeks had to have been some of the worst—no, let me correct that, _were _the worst weeks of my life. Everywhere I went, I was reminded of what had been. I even had to step out of the room in the middle of Calculus because of the big hullabaloo my girlfriends were making over the break up. Therefore, I ended up in the bathroom, unable to control my emotions, causing any girl that dare to step inside to be caught off guard. Weakness. I hated showing the Achilles' heel Garret had left me with. Crying wasn't something I took to lightly, I hated it, it was something no one was supposed to see. Ironically, there I sat on the cold, tile floor of the bathroom, back against the wall, wrapped in my comfort jacket, and crying.

***

I hated Macy Williams for three very good reasons.

One, she put brown Play Dough in my pudding in kindergarten.

Two, she always spread rumors about me in middle school.

Thirdly, she had been focusing all her energy, during high school, on stealing Garret.

During the normal school day, sixth period was the best. I would walk down the two hundred hall and run into Garret. It was by a series of lockers where he always waited. I liked the feeling of that. Garret waited, for me. The thought had just never occurred to me; it seemed surreal, almost like a dream, and yet it happened. Everyday. Once I'd finally gotten use to his presence and I wasn't always making a fool of myself, I began to expect it; it became more normal for him to be by my side, natural. He hung around me more than anyone. And to be honest, I liked that.

But this one particular week had caught me off guard. Call me odd, or grotesque, but he began to seem a little different. Garret didn't wait for me as he usually did, and when he would, some girl with red hair, Macy, would be hanging around him, obviously flirting. Every time I'd approach, she'd always make some random excuse as to why she'd have to run off. Sometimes I actually had the guts to approach Garret about her, but when I would, he'd just brush it aside as if I was the one who had problems, so I quit bugging him about it. It was only when I found out that the annoying red head was to be a new employee at 'The Grill' –a small little grill where I worked, we didn't have a name picked out yet so it just became known as The Grill-; I just about died. _He_ was the only reason she chose to work there.

When she began asking about the ketchup packets, I knew it was going to be a long day.

"Do they test these on poor bunnies?" She began to question me aloud as she sat at the bar near the grill, ketchup packets in hand, smacking her gum extra loud.

I'd had to endure six hours of her gum smacking, trash talking crap, and I was already prepared to loose my temper, thank heavens it was closing time.

"No, you're thinking of make-up," I heaved angrily as I messed with the chicken strips in the fryer, thinking about how long it would take me to shake them just enough to where the boiling grease would hit her 'naturally' tanned skin. I resisted the urge, barely, and switched from violence to mumbling. "Stupid…_do they test these on bunnies?_" I mimicked heatedly to myself.

She dropped the packets back into the container and leaned over the grill, cleavage a little to low, probably since David, the college student, was flipping burgers. He rolled his eyes, as he turned towards me, invisible to Macy's eyes.

"Who actually eats this crap," I refused to give in to the sudden urge to throw a nearby steak knife at her. "I mean that's got to be, what, five _thousand_ calories alone?"

"No, seven, actually," I sarcastically added for my own entertainment.

Her blue eyes popped out as if the apocalypse had just been announced on CNN.

"I knew it," she sat back up and looked over at me. "So that's why you're…well, you know, big-ish." She stuck her belly out, and then turned around to get something out of her purse on a nearby table.

Anger rose within me, as I turned from the fryer, snagged the enormous steak knife off the counter, and began to walk out from behind the counter to give her a piece of my mind. David, who'd luckily been paying attention to the conversation, stuck out a foot, causing me to trip, as the knife went flying. If it weren't for him, I probably would now be serving a life sentence in prison right now. I grumbled and rolled over onto my back, just as Macy decided to come back to the counter.

"Do you know how many germs are down there?" she looked disgusted. "What _are_ you doing?"

"I dropped a knife." I spoke coldly, eyes focused on David's now turned back, as he messed with his backwards hat.

I could see him laughing, but only slightly, so it wouldn't be obvious. Just then, a horn honked outside the grill, and Macy jumped to her feet.

"That's me," she slung the enormous purse over her shoulder and ran towards the only door left unlocked. "Catch ya'll later?"

And was finally gone.

"Why didn't you let me get her?" I stood furiously, throwing the chicken fingers into a red plastic basket with wax paper. I then stood and seated myself at the grill and put the chicken fingers at the spot next to me.

"Well I don't think I would've actually had to, to be honest." He fixed up the chicken patty on the grill and put it on a bun and lettuce, with ranch sauce, few peppers, and white American cheese. My favorite. "You wouldn't have done it."

He grinned pushing the chicken towards me.

"You want a bet?" I challenged, taking an angry bite out of my signature sandwich, only made by David.

He sat down next to me and took some of the chicken I'd made for him.

"Nah wouldn't wanna put you in jail," he grinned, sliding across me to open the fridge, and grabbed two waters. "Not yet at least."

I rolled my eyes; I was too tired to pursue the argument. After a few moments in silence, I felt the urge to break it.

"How can someone be so…so vain?" I turned, now noticing how upset I actually was towards Macy.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing you'll tell me."

"Yeah, yeah I will!" I fought back. "Cause they're prim little princesses and daddy's girls, such spoiled rotten little brats, that they can't tell the difference between world hunger and diets!"

"Ouch," he made a face. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Right when I was about to add on to my speech, Garret came into The Grill, smile on his face. Motivation

"Somebody needed a ride?" he shrugged and walked across the dining area, and kissed me on the head.

"Yeah," I hustled from my seat and threw my trash into the garbage. "Thanks again, my car's in the shop and—."

"You need to stop apologizing." He began walking towards the door, holding it open for me.

"David would you mind closing up tonight?" I asked before stepping out into the summer heat.

"No problem, go ahead," he gestured towards the door.

"Thanks," I called before the door shut behind me.

Garret put an arm around my waist, leading me to the car. He held the door open while I slid inside, then shut the door. With a deep breath, I took in the new car smell with a hint of Garret, and then quickly composed myself as he entered the car. We pulled slowly out of The Grill's small parking lot before I decided to take a chance and ask him one last time.

"Why do you hang out with Macy?" I turned my normal question around, hoping he would respond better to it.

He heaved a sigh and rolled down his window, letting the summer breeze run through the car.

"Cassidy…we've been through this already," he responded, eyes glued to the car in front of us.

"This is the last time I'll ask, promise. I'm just curious." I took the defensive route.

Garret looked at me.

"It's nothing actually; she just knows my family, so I _have_ to be nice to her, not necessarily friendly though."

"She seemed to be pretty _friendly_ to me…"

He laughed and put his arm on my seat.

"She can be a little overbearing at times, but trust me; you've got nothing to worry about." His hand came around my neck and gave it a little squeeze.

"So what did she do today?"

I smiled, content where I was, feeling safe in his presence, and began my tale of ketchup packets and steak knifes.

***

I felt so horrible that day and the next three that passed, that I was unable to eat anything at lunch, which worried the boys into frenzy. It wasn't that I was trying to attract attention, I just wasn't hungry. I eventually ended up skipping lunch all together, to avoid the boys the worry of seeing me suffer in my pain, and went to the library instead to read, to get my mind off things. In order to avoid Garret altogether, I rearranged my entire schedule. I began to take the two-hundred hall instead of the one-hundred, in the mornings I stayed in Miss Derain's room and helped her set up things for the freshmen instead of going to the gym –he had returned to his spot on the bleachers my second day of torture-, all in all, everything was completely changed, Garret-proof. Each day went the same.

Though I felt like total crap on the inside, I did my best not to let it show to my parents, who babied me when I told them of the break-up and to the boys, or anyone else at school for that matter. Whenever Marcus would take me to school, Hal walked me to my next class, or Dylan took me home, I'd give my well practiced fake smile and laugh. After about a week of attempting the technique they eventually begged me to stop, they said it hurt to watch. Unless the boys would talk, my day went on in total and complete silence. I didn't really socialize in my classes, everyone knew what had happened and whispered about their accusations behind my back, no, literally they would. Once this bleach blonde beach chick who sat behind me had enough gall to confront me about the whole thing. Well…better to you, than behind you, right? At least, that's what I thought before she opened her mouth.

"Hey aren't you that guy Garret's ex?" she asked smacking on her bubble gum, while her friend at my left, anxiously awaited my response. "It was a weird name…uh, Glassily?"

"Cassidy." I heaved heavily. "Why?"

"Is it true that you are going to have a baby?" Her question sounded more like an accusation.

"No," I tried to keep my tone even.

"See I told you it wasn't a baby," she glanced back at her friend. "She just dated him for his money."

Right when I was about to give the dumb blonde chick a piece of my mind, the teacher walked back into the room. And so, I got a glimpse into the surrounding world of gossip.

In my heart, I knew these rumors weren't true, but after about two hours of staying strong through the stares, whispers, giggles, and occasional questions, it began to wear me down. I'll be honest here, I began to get a little 'violent', which was probably due to lack of sleep, when it came to the mean girls who whispered just loud enough for me to hear and started quite a few arguments, which always ended up with a teacher silencing us both. Eventually, they just learned to keep their mouths shut, it wasn't worth the fight to them. Nights were rough for me, I usually couldn't sleep, and regrettably I sometimes used the help of Nyquil to knock me out. I was just thankful when I was able to stop myself from crying to sleep; crying never helped anybody, especially me. I either couldn't sleep and I'd just lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, or have the same dream I'd been having about Garret since the break-up, or occasionally, I have a rare lucky night where I slept and didn't dream at all.

It was on a special Friday that I awoke after having the dream. Every time, it started out exactly the same…

_The sky turned to a grey and thunder rolled in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. I was in the parking lot, walking out to my car, until I saw him. I stopped and stared. Garret was leaned up against his car on the passenger side, door wide open. Another shot of thunder filled the air and the clouds began to leak, slowly at first, but then faster, till all I could hear was the 'pitter, patter' of rain drops._

_He cocked his head to the side as if he was studying me, wondering about my next move._

_I pulled myself free of the trance and walked toward my car, arm tight around my waist, holding myself tightly together. After a few steps, I could still feel the weight of his stares. My mind screamed at me to keep my course and not to look back, but my heart said otherwise. I allowed myself one look, just one couldn't hurt. I turned. Garret was still standing there watching me, when he noticed I returned the stare, he motioned me forward, calling me to him. _

_I lost control of my feet as I advanced towards him. His black hair dripped with water and his clothes were soaked. He looked like a model in his stripped Aeropostale shirt and faded blue jeans. The sight was intoxicating, not just to my eyes, but to my heart as well. He grinned as I leaned up against his car, right next to him, almost touching his arm. I tightened my grasp around my waist, ready for anything._

"_Hey," Garret spoke casually, beautiful hazel eyes glowing from beneath his hair._

"_Hi," it was so hard to keep my voice from cracking._

"_How're you doing?"_

"_Okay, I guess."_

"_He smiled at me apologetically. A punch went to my gut. I felt shattered, more broken than ever. I gripped myself tighter._

"_Does it still sting?" Garret pointed to the arm that held me together._

_I wanted to lie, to put up a good front, but somehow I couldn't. Whether it was his piercing eyes or brilliant friendly smile, I couldn't tell you, but I broke down._

"_Yeah," my voice cracked. "Yeah, it does…" I muttered, as silent tears began to fall._

_I became thankful for the rain, glad it hid my tears from him, though I knew the crack in my voice already told him of what he couldn't see._

"_Don't worry, it won't last forever." He turned his gaze from me and looked out into the rain. "It'll fade with time, and eventually you'll forget all about it and me," he muttered beneath his breath, thinking I couldn't hear. "It'll have all just been a bad dream."_

_To me it sounded like he was reassuring himself more that me. Garret looked back at me and smiled. I didn't watch his careful eyes anymore, and glanced down at my hands._

"_That only shows how little you know…" I didn't care now about my falling tears, the pain overwhelmed me. I felt empty, shattered, and broken, like there was this…this big gap that never faded._

_Garret grimaced at my words and moved to sit in the front seat. H looked confused, the way he ran his fingers through his hair. Garret actually looked hurt._

_Then it faded._

I awoke abruptly as the dream faded. My eyes landed on my clock, 7:15. I jumped out of bed and began to throw my clothes on in a rush. Marcus was already impatiently waiting outside. I have to admit, patience was not one of his best gifts, but it was a working progress. His foot was thumping against the ground at an allegro tempo. The sky was a dull grey, acting as if it would snow any minute. Without stopping for small talk, I hopped in the car.

Once at school, I made a break for Miss Derain's room. In a sense, it was my sanctuary, yet also my courtroom where judgment came without the soft impact. I opened the door and slid in, tossing my books down on the nearest desk. In the back of her freshmen biology room, were three long tables surrounded by chairs. On the tables, lay my work for the morning, a stack of poorly drawn animal cells –sorry freshmeat- and a roll of tape on top of the mountain of papers. I began my work at once. After hanging about four drawings, Miss Derain walked in the door with a cup of coffee, which she always got from the teachers lounge. Her black hair had many tiny braids; all pulled back into a ponytail, meaning that today was a day to relax. Her dark chocolate hand clutched the handle of her light blue coffee cup for dear life, as she rummaged around through some papers, and eventually threw them in the trash.

"Hey," she gestured towards me with a tip of her cup. "How's your Friday so far?"

"Eh," I spoke pushing up against the tape to make it stick. "'s okay, the usual. How's your's?"

"I've got my cup of coffee and another day to live," she smiled and seated herself at her paper-covered desk. "You won't be hearing any complaints from me."

"Their terrific artists you know," I gestured towards the picture I was strapping tightly to the wall with the clear tape.

"Yeah," she sipped at her coffee. "But too many of them are perfectionists and rarely finish a thing."

I tapped up the rest of the pile in silence, headed towards a pile of quizzes that needed to be graded, picking up the nearest red pen, and began my work.

"Cassidy, you look awful." A comment I got often.

"Tell me something I don't know." I replied easily, marking an 'F' on a quiz.

"I know break-up's are tough, but the trick is not to let the moron who ditched you know that." She stood and wrote something on the board. "Make him think that you're better off without him, cause trust me, honey, you're _way_ better of without that poor excuse of a boyfriend."

"Can we not talk about this?" I requested; I was exhausted with break-up pep-up speeches.

"Whenever you stop moping about like you've lost your funny bone, I'll stop bugging you." She pointed towards me with a pencil. "See what I think you need is a vacation, a chance to be free of this place, and won't be reminded of him. Fresh air does the mind good."

I marked another test and put it in the pile next to me, not bothering to give her words a second thought.

The day passed me in such a daze, it felt like time wasn't even moving, it was just a blur. A big old boring blur. Nothing happened, and neither did I plan on anything happening. I went through the school day uncaringly, same as usual, and then made my way over to The Grill. I wasn't scheduled to work today, but I needed a change in my week, and what better way to do that, than to hang out with my co-workers.

Macy no longer worked here, she was fired months ago, seeing as she did nothing, but complain about the food and drive away customers. I guess that's why everyone was in such a better mood coming to work, she was gone.

Today, Heather, Lat, and Jared were working, which is like asking for a good time. I just sat at the bar and watched them multitask between keeping a conversation with me and serving up orders. Somewhere between talking and watching the gang, I ended up serving orders and making French fries. It was a hectic Friday, but I liked it, it kept me busy, on my toes. Hamburgers were on the grill and lettuce being chopped, everything went by swiftly, as if keeping with an inaudible beat With the oldies blaring on over the ancient radio in the kitchen, watching everyone laughing and screaming orders, it seemed just like it was before the break-up, no worries.

As I observed my friends, joking, carrying on, and having fun, I began to think how carefree they were. I felt like I was on the outside, looking through a locked window, with no way to get in on the fun, as if it was impracticable, impossible. When customers began to slow, they started dancing to the music twirling around the kitchen, singing out of key, but with huge smiles on their faces. They began to pull me in to their jig, but I withheld and went to help a customer at the register instead. I hated the feeling of lonesomeness.

I faked a smile to the customer with a 'Have a good evening' and ripped off the order, handing it to Heather when she walked over to me. Just as I let the paper fall in her hand, the bell on the door rang and without looking, I greeted whoever walked in.

"Hey, welcome to The Grill." I glanced over at the door and saw Garret come in with Macy hanging on his arm, giggly and grinning.

Immediately, I dropped to the floor, hiding myself behind the counter. Heather dropped her eyes to me, a questioning look on her face. She acted normal though and took Garret's order as if his ex wasn't hiding from him behind the counter.

"Hey, can I take your order?" she grabbed the pen from behind her ear.

"Yeah Hetha," Macy leaned on the counter, acting as if she owned the joint. "I'd like the grilled chicken salad, light on the calories please." She twirled her hair around her finger, gum smacking as usual.

"It's Heather," she responded annoyed, and a slight grin crossed her face. "And light on the calories, sure no problem. What do you want?" she added a little more angrily than necessary, looking over at Garret.

"I'll take a Buffalo Burger and tater tots."

"'Kay, take a seat."

Heather hated the two just as much as I had, even though she went to Jefferson, a school on the opposite side of the county. Macy was always bossing her around and mispronouncing her name, and she hated it. Heather was my sister. What she hated, I hated, and visa versa. We were close.

Right when the couple had turned to find a table she dropped down to join me. She could see the anger in my expression and handed me the order.

"You want to help me take care of this one?" Heather grinned deviously, her clear sign of vengeance.

"Sure."

As I worked on the tater tots, Heather got the salad and burger ready. She brought the salad, if you could even call it that, and laid it down on the counter. The 'salad' had only a miniscule fraction of tomato and lettuce and a drop of dressing with a small square of chicken. I looked up at her, slightly shocked, though not thoroughly because of her hatred for Macy.

"She said light on the calories." I shrugged and tossed the tater tots in a basket by the burger. "Hey, why don't you take these out to them?"

"Oh, please no," I begged, that was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Nope, go on, shoo!" she pushed me out from the kitchen, shoving the food in my arms. "Now don't you go taking any of that crap from him, got it?"

I just nodded lightly and scared. I approached the table shaky, putting their food down as quickly as possible.

"Here," I spoke in a hurry, and walked off as soon as the baskets touched the table.

Right when I was just steps from the kitchen, he called me back.

"Hey, uh Cassidy,"

"What?" Turning defeated, I spoke upset.

"These tots are too done," it was just like him to take a crack at the food he knew _I _made.

"Huh?" that was impossible; they were just a light golden brown, perfect. I should know, I was the perfectionist of the gang!

"Yeah," he handed them back to me. "Can I get some better ones?"

"Sure," I about spat at him through my teeth.

"Hey, girl," Macy spoke up from across the table.

"What do you want?" I wasn't in the mood to deal with both of them, not today at least.

"What is this?" she was angry and pointing at the 'light calorie' salad.

"What you asked for," I stared her down. "A grilled chicken salad, _light_ on the calories."

She didn't bother to respond, probably scared by my stare. I turned with a click of my heels. Once in the kitchen, I threw the basket of tots on the counter angrily and put more in the fryer.

"What happened?" Heather spoke, beside me in seconds.

"He wants different tater tots," I spoke mad and it showed, but that was just fine with me.

"What? Why?"

"They were _'too done'_."

"Oh, that stupid, dumb, moronic,—!"

I was unable to hear the rest of what she was going to say, for I was already out of the kitchen, new tater tots in hand, barely golden.

"Better?" I dropped them in front of him.

He looked at me, then at the food before taking another bite.

"Nah, still too done," he pushed them back to me.

Without responding, I grabbed them and stalked off to the kitchen.

"Now what happe—?" she stopped and watched me dump frozen tots straight out of the bag, into a new basket.

With fury running through my veins, I graded the basket with a much stronger grip than needed, nearly flew back out of the kitchen, for the third time, and threw the raw food at him. They scattered over the table, some into his lap, while the plastic, red basket regained balance and finally stood still.

"Here you go!" I spoke sarcastically and crossed my arms, as a smirk crossed my face. "Anything else? Ketchup, maybe?"

I grabbed the ketchup bottle off the table and hit him directly in the face with the red goop.

He looked at me shocked, unable to react just yet.

"Have a nice night!" I slammed the ketchup back on the table and stalked out of the restaurant; giving Heather –squealing with delight- a slight wave, then slammed the door behind me.

***

No one was home when I arrived; my mom was a lawyer, dad a doctor, which explains the reasons for their absences. I dropped my keys on the counter and heated up some of my Chinese leftovers in the microwave. I couldn't believe what I'd done. I had acted like a completely different person, nothing like me. I soon shrugged off the thought; I was honestly too angry to care about Garret and his ketchup covered face now.

The timer beeped as I pulled out food, the scent of sesame chicken filled my senses. Carefully, I walked over to the living room, plopped down on the sofa, and flicked on the TV. I tried to find a descent movie, no romances or ushy gushy stuff; I wanted all action. It took me a good while to find one with enough blood and guts to suit me, but I finally did. I settled on a horror movie. Mrs. Derain's words nagged at the back of my mind as I tried to pay attention to the movie, but couldn't shake the thought. Maybe I did need a vacation, at least for a little while. Fall break was just around the corner, and I could easily find some relatives to stay with.

After finishing the Chinese, I cut off the TV and went upstairs to take a shower and change into some pajamas. I kept the lights in the house off; I already knew where everything was, always in place and in order. I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on my first light of the evening. My feet froze upon the cold tiles. The warm water felt good against my cold skin, it released all the tension in my muscles, turning me to serenity. I chose one of my dad's t-shirt's and pulled on some basketball shorts, too tired to care about my attire, then plopped into bed. What thoughts were on my mind before I went to sleep, I couldn't remember, all I know is that when my head hit the pillow that night, I was gone.

I awoke on my own accord, no help from my alarm clock, and lay on my bed, staring out a window, sunlight streaming through. I still felt like I was in my sleep mode, unable to rise from my bed. Mrs. Derain's words ran through my mind, then I finally understood why the thought stuck with me, I knew a place where I could clear my head, be myself, and not be troubled by the past, without anyone like Garret to bother me. With a smile on my face, I rolled out of bed, sliding across the hardwood floor in my winter socks. Automatically, I threw my hair up into a ponytail and hopped into the chair rolled under the computer desk, phone in hand, and started my research.


	6. CH3 Moving On

**Moving On…No, I Mean Literally Moving On**

"_Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.__"_

_-__Dave Mustaine _

I sat anxiously at the table, places set, and dinner hot and ready, waiting for my parents to come home. When I finally heard my dads 4x4 pull into the drive, I jumped up from the table and ran to the door, holding it open for my parents. When they saw me at the door, they looked at each other shocked, but said nothing, at least until we were sitting down to eat.

"What's going on Cassidy?" my mom looked up at me, after taking a bite of the spaghetti.

My dad didn't bother the subject; he was to content stuffing his face.

"Well, there's something I wanted to ask you about…"

He looked up, now intrigued.

"I'm an adult now," I took a deep breath. "And I think it's about time I started making some changes. I've made preparations for me to stay with grandpa, in Kentucky. I would like to finish up my senior year there."

His jaw dropped, spaghetti fell onto his plate.

"What?" his face read disbelief.

"Since I plan on going to the university up there, I thought it would be a great way for me to get my bearings early."

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" my mom looked at me sincerely.

"Are you crazy?" my dad yelled. "You're not going! That's that!"

"But dad—."

"Honey," she broke in between our almost-dispute and gestured toward me with her hand. "Look at her. She's not a baby anymore, but a grown up young lady."

"That's just it! A _young_ lady, she's not prepared for this!"

"Actually," I bent over to pick up some papers I'd stacked next to my chair, and handed them to my mom. "I've already picked out a school, read up on the graduating rate, and found a way to transfer my transcripts, and have a place to stay. All we have to do is fill out these papers; all they need is the signatures."

My mom looked at my dad with a smug look on her face.

"See." he looked defeated, when she turned back to me. "It's fine with me; I think you've handled this in an adult like manner, and to be honest, I'm not worried about you at all. I think it's a good idea, so long as it's what you want."

"It is." I nodded.

"Then it's settled." She took the pen off the stack and began signing papers. "When do you leave?"

My dad just rolled his eyes and walked up stairs to his room, sulking about his lost battle.

We spent the rest of the evening talking, planning, and preparing for the move. I glanced around my room with my mom, chattering on about what to take and what to leave, and I began to imagine it packed in boxes. I knew I was making myself do this, no one else was, but somewhere I just knew I needed this. I mean sure I would miss Dylan, Hal, and Marcus, but it was something we could work around. That was the thing with having those boys for friends, it didn't matter where you were or whenever you dropped in to say 'hey', they were always there, arms open wide.

I smiled, turned another paper over, and signed it.

Maybe the answer wasn't going to jump out right then and hit me in the face, but eventually it would, so I put my mind at ease and signed another paper.

***

"You're what?" Miss Derain spoke, coffee cup in hand.

"Moving to Kentucky," I spoke walking towards the colorful fish tank.

"When I said take a vacation, I didn't mean it that way."

I shrugged, while shaking a bottle of fish food out over the big glass tank. "I know, but you've helped me form that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, instead of plotting my future around Garret, it's around me, no room for him."

"Sounds a little selfish," she laughed lightly.

"Yeah, yeah it does," I paused a moment. "But if it's what's best for me in the long run, I don't mind being selfish for a little while."

"Nicely put,"

"Thanks," I grinned. "Besides, I don't have that much to stay for anyways."

"Thanks sweetie," she rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. "That's very reassuring, glad to know I'm loved."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," she walked over to her laptop and began typing away. "I'll bet you're scared being in some place new."

"I'm not scared."

"Sure you're not," she rolled her eyes, walking over to the whiteboard.

"Not that scared, at least."

"And who knows, maybe you'll meet somebody." She gave her goo-goo eyes.

"I highly doubt that. Besides I haven't even been to Kentucky in six years, and I haven't seen my grandpa in eight, and that was when my grandma died."

"Well, at least he agreed that you could stay with him."

"Yeah," I laughed. "He probably needs a maid."

The bell rang just as she was about to respond. In one quick motion, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out of the door and into the crowded hall.

***

"You're what?" two of the boys yelled from across the table in unison.

What was is with people and this response?

"I'm moving," I convinced fidgeting with a roll from my tray of food, barely eaten.

"I don't get that," Marcus added, taking another swig of his Gatorade. "How can you just leave? And in your senior year nonetheless?"

"Well, it takes a lot of paperwork, and a U-Haul." Hal typed on his computer, only putting in a few words worth every now and then.

"I didn't mean physically moving, I meant mentally. You can't just ditch us."

"I know, and I'm not trying to, but—."

Dylan came up beside me and sat in the seat to my left.

"Sup?"

Marcus was the first to speak up as usual.

"Cass is leaving us for Kentucky."

"Who?" he turned to me, popping a grape into his mouth.

"Not _who_," Hal remarked. "_Where_."

Dylan rolled his eyes and threw a grape at him.

"Like I care; so why are you leaving?"

"It's something I need to do for me. I need a breath of fresh air, a vacation." I shrugged and picked up a cookie, attempting to nibble on it. It was harder than a cinderblock; I dropped it back onto the tray.

"But we can come visit you, right? It's not like some rehab thing is it?" Dylan questioned, poking at something that appeared to be chicken in Alfredo sauce.

"No, it isn't."

"Good," Dylan grinned and chugged some chocolate milk, then went to get a fork full of the gross looking chicken.

"Ugh, Dylan," Grossed out, I made a face at the food. "I think it's breathing…"

Spiteful, he stabbed his fork into the pasta, and stuffed his face full, grinning all the while.

***

"You're kidding me."

School had gone as normal, well, once the guys calmed down, and I was now sitting at home in one of the two seats in our living room, magazine in hand. My mom had been home, it was her day off, when a brilliant idea had popped into her head.

"Aww, c'mon, it's not every day you go shopping, and well…I wanted you to have something nice to wear, you know, for the new school and everything."

"Mom there's really no need for new stuff," I practically begged.

Her face began to fall, as she turned and went to put her purse back down. I hated seeing her upset, besides, what could a few new, harmless outfits do?

"Where did you want to go?"

Her eyes lit up.

"Mom?"

Without answering me, she walked out the door, keys in hand, as I sluggishly followed after.

I sat silently in the passenger seat waiting for my time of torture to arrive. Carefully, I watched as my mom pulled onto the highway, seeing which exit she was going to take. My heart skipped an anxious beat when she drove down a strip of shops and stopped in front of one I wish we would've passed. Abercrombie.

"Mom, please," I began to beg. "I was always more of a Gap girl anyways."

She just grinned and turned into the nearest parking spot.

"Okay let's go," she hopped out of the car, joyful as ever.

Groaning, I pulled myself out of the car, slamming the door behind me, and so I followed my mother towards one of my most hated stores. I could hear the music long before the door opened and the smell of strong cologne filled my senses. The music was so loud I could've sworn that the ground beneath my feet was shaking. It was dark inside the store, with only enough light to see the rough images of other walking around, clothes in hand. Along the wall, I could already see my mother scurrying along the racks, clothes in hand, with hangers dangling off her arm. I shoved my hands begrudgingly in my pockets and walked in the opposite direction of my mom.

I kept my eyes on the ground, hoping to avoid any odd glances or unwelcome stares; the floor looked much better than the clothes, from my perspective. It didn't take long for my mom to find me, sulking in the back beside an ancient rack of clothes. Her arms were full, without looking at me –smile still intact on her face- she dragged me off to the nearest dressing room and began throwing clothes my way, to me the whole thing passed in a daze. Everything just drug by monotonously as I tried on shirt after shirt. Not once the whole time I was trying on clothes, she never asked me if I liked this shirt or those pants. It was as if I was a baby doll, and anything she liked went, anything she didn't was added to the pile.

When we finally left the store, my mom had bought twelve shirts, seven jeans, a scarf, a jacket, parka, and one vest.

"So," she sat next to me almost bouncing in her seat.

"So, what?"

"You ready to leave us?"

"Yeah, I'm just kind of ready to be free of this place, you know? Start out on my own."

"I was the same way," she smiled and turned off the radio, driving towards home.

That's all my mom needed to keep the conversation going. All I ever had to do was add an occasional 'Uh huh' or a 'Yeah' to keep her talking. I never even had to be completely listening, off in my thoughts, and those few words could have her carry a discussion for minutes, sometimes hours. The best part, was being unnoticed. Call me odd, but being completely ignored was just fine with me, being the center of attention was what bothered me.

"And then when I finally got the dorm—"

When she started on the stories of her college years, I knew I was in the clear; my participation wasn't required, so I settled in for the drive home, my mom talking unaware that I wasn't paying attention.

***

"Ugh," I groaned angrily to myself, smothering my face into the cold pillow, almost screaming.

It was Wednesday, and I was getting sick of the same old stupid dream. It kept coming, again and again, never-ending. I didn't awake frightened anymore, which made it all the more annoying. If I was no longer afraid of the dream, shouldn't it be gone? Disappear? Ala kazam? Poof? Obviously not. I rolled over, glancing at my clock, before groaning into my pillow again. Three O'clock. What was with these inhumane hours?

I picked up my pillow, hiding my head beneath it. I needed some form of sleep. Dark circles had begun to form under my eyes –make up didn't even hide them anymore-, arousing questions from the boys as well as my parents, something I wanted to avoid seeing as they were worried enough; I was leaving this weekend for Kentucky. Everyone was on edge about my leaving; only after purchasing a GPS, did they calm down and start to help me pack.

I stayed beneath my pillow for a few more moments, before deciding it was impossible, the sandman wasn't on my side apparently. Emerging from beneath the pillow and covers, I stood and made my way down the stairs for a glass of milk. It was silent in the home nothing stirred, not a sound, not a word. I crept my way down the squeaky hard wood stairs, dodging all the squeaky spots –I'd learned where they were by heart-, and made my way into the kitchen. The tiled floor of the kitchen was freezing, and the only light came from moonlight, which shone in from the large window behind the sink. I knew the kitchen pretty well, one of my favorite places in the house, yet I still had trouble finding the refrigerator door.

The light blinded me, as I shied away from it and the cool air that erupted from within the fridge. With my eyes partially covered, I reached in to the deeper part of the fridge, into my hidden stash of chocolate milk. After pouring myself a glass, I walked outside and sat on the back porch swing. The sky was dark, stars, covered by clouds, weren't visible. The only light came from a small detectable piece of moon, shining through the black. We lived close enough to the NASA Kennedy Center that we could occasionally see launches from our back yard. For launches, we'd all pile up on our porch and watch the latest shuttle take off; sounds just in the distance, watching the astronauts leave earth.

For the longest time, I began to wonder how it was for them, the astronauts, on nights like these, taking off into the dark, unknown territory. Were they nervous, when the sky was cloudy, unable to see what lie ahead of them? Were they scared, not knowing exactly what would happen or when they'd get there? Or did they just sit back and relax, putting their faith in the hands of those who had prepared the journey for them.

I took a final sip of my beverage, and stood with one last look at the sky before going inside, and like the astronauts, wanted to be able to put my faith into someone who planned my journey. Not matter where it took me.


	7. CH4 Departure

**Departure**

"_The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways--I to die and you to live. Which is the better, only God knows.__"_

_-Socrates_

The loud thud of a suitcase reminded me it was almost time to leave. I released my mom from the hug, as my dad went back into the house for another bag.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" my mom asked teary-eyed, propped up against the open door.

Her thick white bathrobe hit against her ankles, as the strong winter winds whipped around us. My dad soon came back through the door with a packed box in hand.

"This going to?"

"In the passenger side; yes mom, I'm positive." I turned away from the car and back to my mother's worried expression. "Mom I'm a senior, give me some credit. I'll be fine."

The car door slammed and dad appeared by my side. He embraced me in a tight hug. I was going to miss them, but I needed to get away. This long vacation was a necessity.

"There's a map in the glove compartment with stops and back routes, just in case." He released me and went to my mother's side.

"And there's an extra twenty beneath the steering wheel cover," she shivered in the breeze. "If you need the cash."

"Thanks mom." I sighed, giving one more round of hugs.

I rubbed my hands together, as I ran to the car.

"Bye," I waved with one hand on the open car door.

In my mind, I already had a simple schedule laid out. Without glancing at the brown cardboard box next to me, I started the engine and pulled out of my driveway. I'd already said my goodbyes to the boys yesterday. They'd thrown me a going away party at the grill, which came with a CD entitled 'Break-up'. I wasn't entirely ready to listen to it just yet, so I put it in the case above me til I could build up the courage to hear my reality.

The path on which I drove, was a familiar one filled with memories…but then again what didn't hold memories nowadays? I grimaced as the ache in my gut made itself known. A tear started to form, but I hastily wiped it away. No use crying, what good would that do? I took a deep breath and composed myself. Strength was necessary at this point, no turning back, no bailouts from mom, it was all me. I began to get anxious about the idea, and started tapping on the steering wheel as if it would help me get to my destination quicker.

It wasn't long before I turned down a road that I'd had memorized in my heart. I turned into the fourth house on the right. It was white, newly painted, with dark green shutters, three stories of house. The biggest house I'd ever been in. The driveway was empty, and the house appeared lifeless. I already knew where everyone was, I'd expected the stillness, but somehow it still managed to catch me off guard.

I left the car running, and stepped out into the breeze, shivering beneath my blue jean jacket. I didn't bother to button it up. I figured it was just a waste of time and energy, seeing as it would be easier to withstand the chill for a few moments. With the cardboard box in hand, I approached the porch. It began to be difficult to put the simple little box of memories on the doorstep, but as soon as it touched the welcome mat, I turned and ran without a second glance over my shoulder. With a thump, I slammed the car door shut behind me and backed out of the drive, as fast as I could without taking out the mailbox. Tears welled up in my eyes, as I pulled out onto the road and set my sights on the stretch of pavement ahead.

"Don't look back," I told myself, wiping the tears away, not daring to let them fall. "It's bad luck."

That had been my Grandma's advice she'd given me the evening before she died. I was nine then, but it was just as true then, as it was now. I was almost off his road, when her words replayed in my mind, yet I still found my eyes lingering towards the image in my rearview mirror. With a deep breath, I turned off his street for the last time. Though I had stocked up on many CD's before leaving, I kept the car silent, as I drove down a busy road and up the ramp to the highway. The purr of the engine and the sound of the tires gliding over the pavement, cooed me back to my calmer state of mind. The sound reminded me constantly about the miles between my past and present. It disappeared along with the cloud of exhaust trailing behind my car.

***

It was Christmas Eve and snow was the last thing that we were expecting. We were at Garret's for their annual Christmas Eve bash, and when I say 'bash' I do mean a _bash_. Surround sound –blasting Christmas music throughout the rooms- was in every room except for the kitchen, which was packed with distinguished waiters, trays filled with exquisite food. Everyone was dressed nicely for the occasion; I myself wore a small black dress just for the event. It had two normal straps, as wide as one finger, a corset –perfectly formfitting-, which sparkled slightly with every movement and turn. From the corset, the skirt of the dress broadened out, faintly cascading down toward my knees –the dresses full length-. It was a fairy type dress, something small, simple, and pixie-like, yet magnificent even on a hanger. I wore with it only a simple necklace, charm bracelet, and black ballet-toed shoes, making me seem much shorter than I already was.

Around me, numerous adults and other teens, who I vaguely knew, were in separate clusters, chattering away. I walked loyally by Garret, meeting various important peoples, unable to remember names to go with the many faces. We ended up staying with one particular group made up of five other people besides us: Stephen, Chase, Austin –all soccer friends-, Leah, and Macy. Oh joy.

During the entire conversation, I stayed deathly silent except for an occasional "Mhmm". Throughout the night, I learned something unique about each person. Stephen had the highest scoring streak on the team, and was going to college on a full scholarship; Chase was musical and could play over five different instruments; Austin was a wiz at math; Leah played four different sports including lacrosse; Macy, well, never mind about Macy. Besides Macy, the evening went perfectly, dream-like.

When eleven-thirty rolled around, they began their tradition of the mistletoe. Before midnight, every couple in the house had a single kiss before Christmas, as usual, Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson started off, while other adults followed after. After the adults, some started nudging the young teenage couples toward the archway; it wasn't long before Garret and I were being pressed for a kiss. With a smile, he took me by the hand and led me beneath the mistletoe. I was nervous, shaking like a rattlesnake. He could sense my worry and gently squeezed my hand. We'd never really kissed before, on the cheek yes, but that was as far as we'd gone in the one year we had been dating; definitely not in the public eye.

It got silent as we faced one another, the light color of his hazel eyes read sincerity as he looked down at me, smiling. I grew weak, legs turning into Jell-O when he leaned in towards me, gently raising one hand to the back of my neck –where head and neck met-. I shut my eyes, and lost my sanity. As the clock chimed midnight, people whistled and clapped as we kissed, and soon we both pulled away grinning. Garret looked over at me and gave a slight chuckle, then placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me back towards the crowd of cheering faces.

I looked over at him as he watched the crowd, eyes stuck on one face; everything to me was perfect: the boy, the kiss, the relationship, this life. It was a fairytale, faultless, but if I'd been looking at that situation from a different point of view, maybe then I would've noticed the key points and slight signs as to my fairytale's ending. Yet, I was naïve, unwilling to see what was staring me right in the face, ignoring the evidence completely. Now looking back, I saw it all: the hints, clues, and signs; every little detail of imperfection I'd once dismissed. And that was my downfall.

***

With the long stretch of road in front of me, I put the car in cruise and settled in for a long drive. Only occasionally, did I stop for gas and food; the money I'd taken out of my bank account in advance was still in vast supply, so I hadn't needed to use the extra money yet. I didn't think of anything as I drove, besides the sights of trees and asphalt passing in front of me, nothing really registered that I was indeed free.

My peacefulness was soon disrupted by an annoying, _beep beep. _ I let the noise pass by me uncaring the first few times, but after about ten minutes of enough _beeping_ to censor an 'R' rated movie, it began to bug me. It wasn't long before I began to search for the noise, with one eye on the road and the other looking to see if it was in a bag. Sure enough, I found the source of my annoyance.

Thirteen missed calls.

I flipped open the cell and looked at my recent calls. I didn't bother calling anyone back just yet; they'd all be busy, unable to answer their phones, so I just turned off my phone and tossed it in the backseat. I'd call the boys when I arrived in Kentucky, but until then the phone stayed where I'd left it, behind me.

Miles turned to hours passed, and hours turned to everlasting moments. With each passing minute on the clock, it became easier, until it took no effort at all. The sun was just beginning to fade as I crossed the Kentucky line. Granted, it would've taken me longer without the GPS. The roads weren't crowded, and the only company I had was that of the eighteen-wheeler's passing through. It was breathtakingly beautiful. There was no flat land visible anywhere; snow covered hills of mountainous size towered around me. Fields ran alongside the freeway, cows and horses grazing before the setting sun.

I turned down a long winding road, as directed by my GPS. The vacant road soon came to a steep hill.

"You have reached your destination." I was informed.

Gazing down the hill, I could see a small, lit farmhouse to my left, surrounded by empty fields –a barn lying in one in the fields-. It was my only beacon in the darkness, and the only house on the street, so with a deep breath –and one foot on the brake- I descended towards the house, and my future.


	8. Ch5 A Not So Warm Welcome

**A Not So Warm Welcome**

"_The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.__"_

_-Emily Dickinson _

One thing that Florida had never prepared me for in Kentucky was the ice. I'd driven down the steep hill, started up the next hill, then turned left down the driveway –grass covered cheaply in gravel-, parking beside an old Chevy pick-up. I stepped out into the cold, pulling on a jacket as I walked around towards the trunk. With bags finally in hand, I made my way to the house by walking on a short –slightly cracked- sidewalk, which was when tush met concrete. My head hit the sidewalk merciless, leaving me with a monstrous headache –bags lying on either side of me. The porch lights flickered on and screen door flew open, revealing an old man on the inside, rifle in hand, my Grandpa.

"Who's out there?" he yelled before spotting me.

"Ugh…" I groaned rubbing the back of my head as he turned the gun on me. "Whoa! Grandpa, it's me, Cassidy."

"Cassidy…?" he began to take back the rifle slowly.

"Yeah,"

"What in the Sam-heck are you doing laying there? Trying to give an old man a heart attack?"

"No,"

"No sir," he corrected and heaved a disappointed breath. "Well c'mon, get in here! I won't have you're parents blaming me for a cold…Hurry up!"

I arose quickly and grabbed my bags, head swirling, as I ran inside. Once indoors, I kicked off my snow covered shoes and dropped my stuff.

"What do you think you're doing?" he inquired frustrated.

"Hmm?"

"I don't want a puddle in my house; take the shoes outside, and for heaven sake, don't just leave your bags lying around, take them upstairs! Your room is the one on the right."

I wasn't even settled in yet and I'd already noticed how things were going to be the remainder of my senior year. After placing my shoes out on the concrete porch, I began dragging my bags upstairs. I could feel his eyes watching me as I opened the door on my right, tossing my stuff inside. I then tried to start some form of conversation where I wasn't being yelled at.

"Is that your room?" I pointed to the door directly at the top of the stairs.

"No, and I don't want you going in there either, you hear me?" he yelled yet again.

"Yes sir."

"Good, now get down here."

I headed down the stairs toward the front door. At the base of the stairs, to the right, was the bathroom and to the left was the living room; once in the living room, I could see the kitchen to my left.

"Now, this is the living room, as you've probably noticed. That through there is the kitchen, and that," he pointed to a door lying on the wall across from me, between the kitchen and living room, "is my room. If I'm in there, I don't want you bothering me unless you're dying or dead, understood?"

"Yes sir."

"And I don't want you walking in there, ever; my room and the one at the top of the stairs are off limits. If you're hungry, there's stuff in the kitchen. You can have whatever you want so long as you clean up your mess. I'll be in my room." He opened the bedroom door and walked in. "Keep the noise down."

I nodded and watched him shut the door. Here I was, in Kentucky, in a deathly silent house, all alone.

"Well Cassidy," I muttered to myself. "Looks like you've gotten off to a terrific start. Wonderful…absolutely marvelous…"

***

Silently, I scurried over the cold floor and into bed. Though my long pajama bottoms covered my feet, I wore socks to bed in hopes of keeping my feet slightly warm. I kept the shades on the window open, welcoming the moonlight. The lamp on my nightstand shone faintly, lighting my iPod beneath. Once hidden beneath the covers, my hands and eyes emerged from beneath the blankets, reaching out for my hopeful source of sleep. After fixing the headphones over my ears, I surfaced one final time to shut off the lamp.

With a click of the 'Hold' button, the iPod blinded me. I didn't have anything particular in mind to listen to, so without a care, I set it to shuffle and nestled in for a well deserved rest.

***

I was never fond of Valentine's Day or even anniversaries for that matter. The whole couple's idea just gave me the heebie-jeebies; that word should be outlawed.

Couple.

What did that word entitle really? That you were bound to this person always and forever; or that you just bought them stuff on special occasions before you either broke up or divorced? To me, it was pointless. To buy someone stuff that you eventually would have no to ties to, just diddlysquat and wasted money. Yet ironically, there I found myself, aimlessly wandering through the mall by myself, with no earthly idea what to get Garret.

So far, we'd been together for two years, our anniversary, which Garret insisted upon celebrating, was only a day away. This was the first time I had ever actually had an 'anniversary', so I didn't really know just what to expect, let alone buy. I had enough trouble buying the boys things for their birthdays, dealing with a 'couple's holiday' was enough to put me in hysterics. The only items I came across that were even semi-close to a good gift were a watch, cologne, and a tie.

Unfortunately, I backtracked on all those ideas, imagining the meaning behind the gift. The watch, to count the limited amount we had together. Cologne would probably make him think I thought he stunk, not exactly the perfect impression to make on one's anniversary, especially their first. The tie said, _"I'm too good for you to actually think about buying you something, so I just got something cheap with no thought required!"_ Not exactly the perfect idea, letting your 'special someone' know their cheap and not even worth your thought process. All these gifts left me with one thing: empty handed.

That was the last thing I needed. The mall was beginning to close and I had to get _something. _ It was then that my eyes lay upon _it_, and without a second thought, I made the purchase.

When I met Garret for dinner the following day, heart was pounding like a sledgehammer; I was nervous all over again. We ate at a fancy Italian restaurant and stayed out late until we were the only ones left. It wasn't long before we were forced to leave -back then, Garret owned a new, black Ford. That evening, we sat in the truck bed, talking when we brought up the subject of gifts.

"I want mine first." He grinned, mockingly.

"Fine," I heaved a perturbed sigh and handed him the box tucked behind me.

I began to worry as he opened the box excitedly. I began to think about stealing it from Garret before he could see the present, but once he ripped off the lid I knew it was too late.

"Whoa," he turned the jacket over and over in his hands before trying it on.

I immediately took that as a bad sign and went through my excuses on being a horrible shopper and being unable to find a thing at the mall, when he stopped me.

"No, I like it!" he smiled looking it over. "Much nicer than my other's."

"Really?"

"Really. Here," he hopped out of the truck bed, throwing something my way: his favorite soccer jacket. "I've got a new favorite now."

"I got you something to," he grinned, pulling a guitar out of the backseat as well.

"Oh really?" I loved hearing him play, it was one of his major talents -besides soccer-, that and singing. He was sporty and artsy, making it a rare, enjoyable moment to hear him play.

Once situated in the truck bed again, he smiled, making my heart melt.

"Ready?"

"Go for it."

He began to strum, slowly then began faster. The tune sounded familiar, yet the song I could not name. He began singing after the intro. Now, I'm not sure what most girls would've liked for their two-year anniversary, but I was completely content. Most of the people I know can't sing to save their lives; Garret on the other hand, had a voice that flowed just as beautifully as the tunes he strummed. The words didn't come out stretched or strained, they came effortlessly.

Garret hit the highlight of the song, moving into the bridge, and I slowly began to tear up; the words sounded beautiful because they were sincere. The words soon faded and the chords with it. He smiled at me, pulling me towards him in a comforting hug.

"That bad?"

"Oh yeah," I joked. "Absolutely horrible."

"Well then, I don't suppose you'd like this then, huh?" he held out a plastic CD case to me.

"What is this?"

"Our song, if you're willing to accept it, along with a few others."

I opened the case and a 3x5 card slid out, song titles and artist neatly scripted.

"That one," he pointed to the first song on the list. "Is our song."

I slid on his jacket before letting Garret pull me into another hug. Happily, I clutched him tightly, his sweet aroma filling my lungs, all the while wishing he'd never let me go.

***

I awoke the next morning crying, lyrics lingering in my thoughts. I rolled over, pulling off my headphones to clear my ears of the song. With a quick press of the button, it stopped. I glanced at the screen, wiping tears from my eyes so I could see the title, in hopes, that if I could remember it, the song would erase entirely from my thoughts. Your Guardian Angel. The title meant so much to me that night, it meant security, love, and at that time, Garret. To clear my head, I glanced up at the ceiling in the morning light.

It was Sunday morning to be exact, and I was groggy and sleep deprived. I'd had the dumb dream again and the song didn't help much -obviously changing states hadn't changed my sleeping schedule-. Sleepily, I rolled over, causing the ancient springs of the mattress to creak and squeak beneath me. The mattress wasn't helping either. Propping myself up on my elbows, I got a good layout of the room; it was enormous, spanning over the length of the living room and part of the kitchen. The head of the small twin bed lay in front of a wide window, overlooking the front yard and my now snow-covered car. Great…

I didn't want to move from beneath my covers, it was chilly enough just peaking my head out from under them, but to actually step out of my small bit of warmth to freeze my butt off just seemed stupid. Besides, I didn't feel like getting yelled at this early in the morning. At the thought of Grandpa, I glanced back out the window. In place of where his truck had been, only tire tracks remained. With a newly revived spirit, I hopped out of bed towards my suitcase, pulling on socks, then clothes before leaving the safety of my bedroom.

Once I'd accomplished pulling on a pair of jeans, knee socks, a long sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt, I emerged from my den of hibernation as I threw my hair into a ponytail. Curiosity pricked me when I looked at the shut door to my right. Instinctively, I glanced left, down the stairs and listened, not a sound surfaced. I turned back to the door, and slowly began reaching for the handle. My finger grazed the cold surface of the metal doorknob; I pulled back and abruptly ran down the stairs. No, I wouldn't go in there, not yet at least.

For breakfast, I made myself and egg sandwich, eating slowly, expecting Grandpa to burst through the front door yelling. It took me till after I did dishes, to realize that he wasn't coming back anytime soon. So, with a second layering of socks, gloves, hat, and a jacket, I readied myself before stepping out into the winter wonderland. Staring me in the face was a piece of paper tapped to the door, a list scrawled upon it. Chores, ugh. Uncaringly, I shoved the paper into my pocket and walked out into the freezing air.

This time I steered clear of the sidewalk, and settled for trudging through the snow. The white powder engulfed my legs, stopping at my upper calf before I actually hit solid ground. Once I got my bearings, I pulled the list from my jeans and read it allowed.

"One, toss hay into cow stall. Two, bottle feed calves. Fill water troughs. Make grocery list. Instructions in barn for feeding. Be done by the time I get back." I glanced up from the list and over at the barn. "Cows…fun."

Folding the list back to my pocket, I trudged uphill towards the barn. It didn't take long before I came upon my first gate; slowly, I climbed up and over the cold metal. Ice had frozen over the metal bars causing my footing to slip; dropping me on the other side, obviously the weather in Kentucky had it out for me.

By the time I made it to the barn, my jeans were completely wet, from hem to waist. Carefully, I slid open one of the enormous doors, and shut it behind me. It was warmer inside; no wind chills to bother me, so I pulled off my beanie and looked deeper into the barn. About twenty-five feet away, lay yet another huge shut door. The space in which I stood held farming equipment; filled with huge tractors and tools, the place reeked of gasoline and oil. The sound of cows reached my ears. Slowly, I walked towards the door and hesitantly opened it. On the other side of the door was a long room, floor covered with straw. The left wall was lined with several separate stables; calves housed in them looked out at me through an oval opening in their doors. The closer I got to them, the more they drew their heads back.

Beneath each oval opening was a small square tin container, for feed I guessed. On the opposite side of the room, a herd of –I guess you could say teenage- cows were held within a metal fence, as the gate I'd climbed over earlier. It followed down the wall, but became wider in the back of the barn in an 'L' shape creating an enclosed pen big enough for the herd. To my left lie a door with a note tapped to it.

"Calves feed: 1 scoop each, Calves milk: mix powder and water, Cows: 5 five hay bales." Reading the list over again, I grinned and placed the paper in my pocket. "Sounds easy enough."

Opening the door with a series of creaks, I found the feed and milk powder with ease, and then set out to do my job. Before walking out to retrieve the square tin pans, I spotted another note on the inside of the door.

"Keep bottle's tilted when feeding calves, don't let them swallow air." I read aloud, heaving an angry sigh before pushing myself out the door toward the smelly animals. "Ugh, grocery list item number one, paper. Heaven knows he's going to run out of it at this rate."

Overall, my first day working on the farm went very well. After being in the barn for a while, I got use to the smell and sound. Feeding the calves was my favorite part. Their adorable wet noses and big eyes captured me at once. I didn't want to leave them, but once the cold began to sink in through my clothes I decided I'd have to make the sacrifice. As I began to walk back to the house, I saw Grandpa's truck out front.

"Where've you been?" Grandpa called from the porch, hand on the doorknob.

"In the barn."

"Still doing chores?"

"Nah, I stayed with the calves."

"No sir," he corrected me. "So you've taken a liking to the calves have you?"

"Yes sir."

"Well come on in for lunch."

***

We ate our lunches in silence, barely daring to glance at each other. After washing my own dishes, I decided to unpack my stuff; it wasn't like I would be leaving anytime soon. As I walked the stairs to my room, I glanced over at one of the two forbidden rooms.

"What is he hiding?" I mumbled silently to myself, reluctantly turning away and opening my own door.

Once I'd finished organizing and unpacking my room, we spent the rest of the day creating a grocery list and shopping. Besides his occasional corrections, everything went fine, enjoyable even.

When we arrived home, he made dinner, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, and watched TV for a bit. I took a shower and went to bed early that night so I'd be fresh and ready for school the next day. Ugh, school. To escape the very thought I popped in my iPod and hit play. _The song_ started; I pressed 'Pause' immediately. I looked up to the ceiling, thinking for a moment before turning off the iPod and placing it gently in the nightstand drawer beside me, then slowly drifted off to sleep.

I awoke the next morning to an alarm clock, from my first dreamless night of sleep in a long time.


	9. CH6 Eager Endings

**Eager Endings, Slow Starts**

"_But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time.__"_

_-Mitch Albom_

I felt like a bug, a tiny, little bug under a huge microscope, being examined thoroughly by the entire student body. No, not a bug, I was more like an escapee from prison, with a warrant over my head. The sense of their judgmental stares told me what I already knew. I was an outsider. A newcomer. Every now and then, I took a deep breath to compose myself. Somehow, I felt trapped and claustrophobic. I was smothered by their stares. Maybe I was thinking into it too deep. No one probably even noticed I was new, but then again, maybe the teacher walking next to me, pointing out the entire school was a dead give away.

All I did was question her where a room was, one stinking little room, and she dragged me around the whole school! I kept my head down, letting my hair fall in my face, hiding myself from their curious glances. What a way to begin in a new school.

Once I'd been escorted to the room in question, the teacher finally left me with good luck's and a smile. I seated myself in the very back of the room in embarrassment. My first class of the day was history, or at least that's what my new schedule said. I kept quiet as the teacher walked into the room, hoping he wouldn't notice and bring any attention to me. He did.

"Good morning class," he spoke cheerfully, "We have a new student with us, and I'd like you all to give her a nice, hearty welcome. Cassidy, would you raise your hand please."

Begrudgingly, I let my hand slowly rise above the surface of heads.

"Oh," he noticed me in the very back, "Why don't you come up here, and get a better look at your classmates?"

I was positively sure that the whole point of me going up there was so that they could get a better look at me, so I shyly backed away from the offer.

"No thank you, I can see them very well from back here."

The class laughed. He looked offended, but held his anger.

"Alright class, turn to page three sixty-two and explain to me the causes and effects of the Chinese, communist government."

As I reached for the book under my desk, I noticed someone on the front row watching me. Confidently, I glanced up and met the stare of a boy with dark blonde hair, styled messily into a faux-hawk. He gave me a quick, devilishly handsome smile. Nervously, I stared at my book, flipping through the pages till I found the correct one, and cautiously glanced back up at him, only to find his figure turned. Throughout the rest of class, I worked my hardest to keep from glancing over at the back of his head in curiosity. When the bell finally rang, I leaned over to get my backpack, shoving papers in as I zipped it up, but when I glanced up to get a better look at the boy who'd caught my curiosity so easily, he was already gone.

As luck would have it, the rest of the teachers left me alone for the rest of the day, leaving me to silently watch from the back of the room, and for that I was grateful. A few times throughout the day people would come up and introduce themselves, but I could hardly remember the names and faces. I was alone when it came to lunch time, sitting silently at an empty table; almost wishing someone would come and invite me to theirs. I could feel the weight of their stares, but I ignored the feeling, having already dealt with it throughout the day. Slowly, the loud chatter of the lunchroom died down, till the only audible thing I heard was a pair of clicking heels coming my way.

I kept my eyes on only my lunch, uninterested of what I would see if I did look up. When the clicking stopped and I saw a black pair of strappy heels before me, I looked up, eyes falling upon whom, I was positive, had every intention of sending me to hell.

"Who do you think you are?" The brunette exclaimed, arms crossed, posed for war.

I gawked at her for a moment, unsure of what to do. Behind her, I noticed the group standing, some already seating themselves at the table I currently resided at. Amongst the group, I saw a familiar face, the boy in my history class. He looked from the girl to me, an intent look upon his face.

"Hellooooo? Anyone home?" she waved a tanned hand in front of my face, causing some to laugh. "You mind? You're sitting at my table."

When the hand came in front of my face, I focused on the girl again. Anger rose within me as I bit back my tongue. Afraid I would say something I'd regret, I stood, leaving my sack lunch behind and walked silently from the lunchroom, without a second glance towards her or the boy. On my leaving, I could hear the girl gloating over her 'win'.

"Look at her run," she laughed heartlessly, "Just like a dog, tail between her legs."

I sat in my car for the remainder of the period, unwilling to step through those double doors, but once the bell rang, headed back inside, no sense in getting in trouble for skipping on the first day. The rest of the day passed by pretty much in a blur, I didn't even bother to glance around at the faces in my Physics or art class. When school finally ended, I drove around the school and into town in search of a something to take my mind off of my difficult beginning.

I passed a smoothie joint with a 'Help Wanted' sign out front, and slowed down. I'd need a job; my parents weren't there to pay for everything anymore, so I pulled in a parking space. I walked into the building with fingers crossed, and left clutching my new work schedule.

***

"My ranch-hand works here every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday's if he chooses to, and stays for dinner those night's so I'm gonna need you to cook up something special for us. You do know how to cook right?" Grandpa looked up from his mashed potatoes and fried chicken.

"Of course," I tried to sound as professional as possible.

He looked at me cynically.

"I do," I added, a little agitated.

"M'kay," he went back to eating. "Whatever you say…"

"Oh, Grandpa,"

"What?"

"I got a job this afternoon, at that smoothie joint in town."

"Your work schedule won't mess with cookin' dinner at all, will it? Cause I work late on the nights when the ranch-hand comes, all except for Saturday's, and I don't want him working on an empty stomach."

"No sir, actually quite the opposite, I work all the days in between; Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday's."

"Oh," he thought it over for a minute. "Well that works out pretty well. You'll be working after school I presume."

"Yes sir, after school lets out till nine, and on the weekends from eight to three."

He gave a little grumble, which I suppose is an 'Alright' from him, and went back to his food.

The evening carried on in silence, as it did the night before, but I as getting use to it, not minding so much. That night, as I walked about my room getting ready for bed, I glanced over at the nightstand holding my iPod. A moment went by before I finally turned off the lights and hopped in bed, listening to the sound of the whistling wind.

***

For me there are four types of people in this world. The first are mathematicians and scientists, those who see the world in a form of logic and find comfort in knowing all about it. Then there's the second, musicians, who can make beautiful chords and melody flow together effortlessly to form something even greater. The third group is consisted of the lucky few who acquire both of these talents. And well, then there's the fourth group, those who have neither; I placed myself in the latter group.

I was neither a mathematician nor a musician; I found no comfort in the world of logic or in the realm of music notes. I could barely carry a tune, and when I did attempt, I caused serious pain to anyone within earshot. Garret, however, was the complete opposite of me. He was brilliant and had perfect pitch whenever it came to anything semi-musical. I envied him when I'd listen to him play the guitar or sing a song, it just didn't seem fair to me that one person was allowed too much talent. I'd never really attempted to play the guitar; I had been given enough input to know that my God-given-talent was most certainly not playing an instrument. However, one warm spring afternoon, Garret seemed to disagree.

School had just gotten out and walking barefoot was becoming enjoyable. Light summer dresses were everywhere, and joy was in the air. I'd been doing my annual spring cleaning when Garret came over to visit. As usual when I was in my 'deep clean mode', he sat off to the side and watched me bravely battle the mountainous pile of stored junk, known as my closet, alone. As I dug through my closet, tossing things into numerous piles, he played the guitar and patiently awaited my return from the battlefield.

"I don't know how you do it," I blabbed, pulling clothes I no longer wore off their hangers and into a pile.

"Do what?"

"Play the guitar with such ease; it must be more difficult than you make it appear."

"Nope," he looked up to the ceiling, plucking at the guitar strings. "Not really."

About the same time he finished speaking, I pulled on a sweater that hung from my closet shelf, when a pile of dusty clothes fell on me; Garret went wild with laughter.

"Maybe you should clean more often, and then stuff like that wouldn't happen."

I stuck out a tongue and crawled out from beneath the rubble.

"I think it was your plucking which caused the avalanche."

"Oh, so now you're dissing my mad guitar skills?"

"If that's what you call it."

"Well then, come over here," he held the guitar out and patted the spot in front of him. "Let's see if you can do any better."

"Fine, I will." I strutted over and took the guitar, then realizing my mistake of accepting his challenge. "Never mind, I forfeit." I handed it back to him.

"No, no, no," he pulled me down before him. "I want to see how miraculously you put me to shame."

"You and I both know I don't know how to play."

"Well, then I'll teach you."

First, he placed the guitar in my arms, laying it across my lap, and then placed the 'neck' –as he called it- in my left hand.

"Okay, now this," he arranged my fingers along the strings, "is a C chord. Go ahead, strum it."

I did, producing a vile sound. We both grimaced. Trying to fix the problem, he came around behind me, pressing his identical fingers to mine along the neck, holding them down tighter. Garret then put an arm around me, picked up my hand, and with his, strummed the guitar. The chord sounded full and beautiful, quite a difference compared to mine.

"Well, now that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"No," I admitted. "But then again, doesn't everything you touch turn to gold?"

"Now that I think about it, it does actually, doesn't it?"

"Oh you're full of it." I said playfully.

"If you mean skill, than yes, I agree."

"While I have none what-so-ever."

"Precisely."

I pulled myself away from his embrace, which he willingly released me from, and continued with my cleaning. I didn't pay much attention to him as he strummed away at the guitar, until he played a tune that caught my attention. Our song. He knew I was then listening, and unlike the others songs followed it through till the end.

Just as the song ended, Garret pulled his vibrating Blackberry from his pocket.

"Hey Cass, sorry, but I've got to go meet up with someone real quick."

"That's alright, go ahead."

"Thanks," he stood, and then leaned over, kissing me on the cheek, before scurrying out the door. "I'll call you later."

That night I didn't get a call, or even a text message. I didn't pay attention or wait around for him to call; if he was going to, he would, if not, he wouldn't. At the time, it didn't make much of a difference to me or our relationship; it was just one call, big whoop. But, as I was soon to figure out –along with many other things-, this was to be the first of many empty made and broken promises.

***

Tuesday was better, if you include the consideration of everyone glaring at me as a plus. Instead of going to the lunchroom and facing more embarrassment, I ate outside on one of the school's cheap, concrete benches. No one ever came out there, meaning there was no one to bother or harass me, something I was grateful for. I'd sit there alone, working on homework and eating my lunch, occasionally throwing scraps of bread out to the birds.

Now, while talking to birds was fun and all, my favorite period –the last period of the day- was art. My teacher was cool and didn't mind much that I was a horrible artist; instead, she would commend me on my 'exquisite' colors and 'feel of emotion' in the pictures. Not to mention the fact that it was an easy A. I'd almost quit the class, when I walked in and saw the girl from lunch and her posse sitting at a table in the corner. Thankfully, I lucked out and they didn't notice or recognize me.

It made for a peaceful thirty minutes, except the fashion cult's gossip kept finding some way to echo back to my table. Mostly they trash talked others, which went on and on, but something began to keep turning up: a guy named Logan James Spence. I'd already heard enough of their flirty banter of him; most came from the chick at lunch. After listening in for a little while, it became clear to me that the girl was dating him. I still had no idea who this 'gorgeous, blue-eyed, sandy, blonde, spiked hair hunk' was, and after hearing about him for half an hour, I didn't want to. Just from overhearing in that session alone was enough for me to begin my biography of the infamous, spectacular, sweet, beautiful, most popular kid I'd never met, let alone seen. If he was so 'famous' shouldn't I have by now? I tried to focus on my art, hoping to soon tune them out. No luck.

"So what are you doing for your eight month anniversary?" one of the comrades asked the 'Queen Bee'.

"I don't know, we haven't exactly set anything up yet calendar-wise, but we'll do something, definitely."

"Do you have plans with him for tonight?"

"No, Logan's got to work today."

"Great! That means more chick time for us."

"Thank heavens, I've been needing to get my nails painted, they're starting to chip."

When they brought out the conversation of nail-polish, my mind immediately cut out of the chat. No use wasting brain power on useless information. Just as I painted a final stroke on my colorful canvas, the bell rang. It took me a while to clean up all the paint and find a safe place for my latest 'creation', all the while Mrs. Vermeer –also called Mrs. Vermin by the students, for her mouse-like features – watched me out of the corner of her eye. I'd almost made it out the door to freedom when she stopped me.

"Miss Cassidy," she never, like every other normal person, called me by my first name, "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure," she gestured me over to my painting. "What do you think when you look at this painting?"

I cocked my head to the side trying to think of something 'intelligent' and 'artsy' to say, but nothing came to mind.

"Ugh," I shrugged, "It's colorful?"

"What do you feel when looking at it? What hits you when you see the colors you chose for this work of art?"

She was beginning to show me up on the emotional feel of the painting, which I usually thought was the artist's job, not the questionnaire. I tried to force myself to gaze at it deeper, hoping that some form of inspiration would hit me, turning me insightful, but the only 'enlightenment' that I saw was at the center of the painting, where the chaotic swirl of various beautiful colors met, turning it brown with the mixing of the colors. It had been a mistake with an unsteady hand; I heaved a sigh, giving up on my excursion of insight.

"To be quite honest Mrs. Vermeer, I have no idea what brilliant feel I should be possessing when looking at this. I just doodled with colors; it's not even that good."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." She glanced at me, then the painting once more. "If you sense no feel, then tell me, what stands out to you the most?"

"That big, brown, ugly blob in the center," I pointed obviously. "It was a mistake; it wasn't even supposed to be there."

"Well, Miss Cassidy, do you mind if I take a moment to tell you what I see in this painting?"

"Go ahead,"

"I've noticed that none of the colors are the same," she pointed to random colors on the canvas. "Blue's, green's, different shades of violet, turquoise, maroon, all based on the same color, but none exactly as the other. They're all scattered about, twisting and knotting themselves around others in chaos, eventually creating the mix of confusion of them all in the center, which you call a 'big, brown, ugly blob'."

I looked at this lady, unbelieving that she could get all that from some kindergarten chicken scratch.

"And what's more, if you put the colors figuratively with something, like let's say feelings or emotions, and you place the colors with an emotion, such as: rage, joy, or sorrow. Then you have them all scattered about, like –if this was a person's thoughts- they couldn't choose a specific feeling towards whatever the situation may be, causing all their thoughts to become muddle and mixed, which I'd say, stands for the brown blob." She looked at me for a moment as I inspected the painting, trying to scrutinize it just as she had, "Makes you see it in a different light, doesn't it."

"But I didn't purposely mean for any of that to come out in the picture, I just started scribbling and swirling some colors, nothing special."

"That's the beauty of art; you never know what you, or anyone else for that matter, will get out of it. Everyone sees something different, making it meaningful and unique to anyone who sees it." I couldn't really say anything in response that'd matter much, so I stayed silent. "I can't wait to see more of your work this semester."

"Thank you Mrs. Vermeer." I smiled, walking out the door with a wave, wondering how the crap anyone could see all that 'beauty' in simple chicken scratch.

***

When I finally arrived at the farm it was already pushing four-thirty. If I wanted to have my chicken casserole ready by six, I'd have to rush. Parking by an unfamiliar white, Ford 4X4, I hurried inside, not bothering to stop by the barn to say 'hey' to the ranch hand.

One inside, I began throwing everything on the table; chicken, celery, rice, chicken broth, along with many others, landed with a thud as I preheated the oven. I multitasked brilliantly, stirring boiling chicken in a pot, chopping celery with my other hand, then rotating out to mix the broth with salt and various flavorings. I began to grow warm with the heat from the stove rising with my blood pressure. After throwing the finished casserole into the oven and taking a moment to breathe, I began to wipe down the counters, throwing away trash. I wiped my brow, giving the kitchen another look-over before putting down the rag.

Pulling my messed up bun into a presentable ponytail, I glanced over at the timer. I still had about forty minutes before the casserole would be ready, so without much left to do, I grabbed a plastic cup, filled it with water, and with a jacket, left to go introduce myself to the ranch-hand. It took me a while to make it to the barn –thanks to the snow-, but once I arrived, I could hear music playing. A voice sang along with it tunelessly, trust me, he was no Elton John. I pushed the door open silently, and slid behind a tractor, spying. His back was turned towards me blocking his face from my sight.

The song changed just as I emerged from behind the tractor, playing some dramatic blues.

"Well since my baby left me!" he sang out using the pitchfork in his hand as a mike, dancing carelessly. "Well it's down at the end of lonely street that's Heartbreak Hotel."

"You know, I'm pretty sure that even Elvis himself had better moves than that, and that's saying something."

"I highly doubt that." He yelled, not turning towards me.

I approached him slowly, handing out the water to him.

"You thirsty?"

He dropped the pitchfork carelessly, and turned around. On his head, he wore a green hat backwards, with a pair of sunglasses perched on the lid. A simple white tee stuck to his sweaty body, as blue jeans hung simply from his waist, a dirty pair of boots brought the country boy ensemble together.

"I'm Cass," I smiled as he turned around.

My happy façade fell once my eyes fell upon that familiar face. He wiped his brow, fixed his cap, and then cleaned his hand his jeans. Holding his hand out to me, his eyes found my face, which immediately read shock.

I dropped the cup from my hand and began to walk out of the barn.

"I can't believe my rotten luck, first lunch, and that stupid prep, now this." I turned around angrily, "I'm sorry, but harassment hours are from eight to three only."

"Listen," I could hear him running to catch up with me, "I'm sorry they did that to you. I tried to find you afterwards to apologize, but it was like you just vanished."

"That's a load of crap, now if you don't mind, since you all got to do what you do best, I'm going to do what I do best and disappear." I continued walking.

"I'm sorry Brooke did that to you, she had no right to."

"Oh, and you're apologizing for her? Wait—I know who you are." I rolled my eyes. "And you know what? I don't want to hear any of your apologies or your pity, 'Kay? I don't need any of it."

"I wasn't trying to hand out any pity. Man, someone tries to hand you some friendship and you're like a cobra."

"I don't want or need your friendship. And what are you doing here; shouldn't you be off with your rich friends having a frappucino?" I questioned.

"Well I'd think it obvious that I work here." He replied sarcastically.

"Why would you work here?" I added a little more harshly than intended.

"Am I not allowed to work were I please without having to explain myself?"

"You're entitled to do whatever you like; I just figured someone like you would be—"

"Wait a sec," he added, an unreadable expression crossed his face. "Someone like me? And what exactly is 'someone like me'?"

I swallowed hard and stood my ground.

"You know someone who doesn't need to be working. Someone whose parents are filthy rich and pay for everything. A person who is so popular they're untouchable, well, and you're Brooke's boyfriend, that's got to put you on quite some pedestal."

"Is that all you see when you look at me?" his tone softened.

His response took me by surprise. We locked eyes for a moment; Logan looked upset by my accusations, but quickly turned away from me when I didn't respond and returned to his work. With nothing better to say, I walked away, leaving the awkward silence lingering in the air. Some introduction, 'eh?


	10. CH7 Survival of the Fittest

**Survival of the Fittest**

**"__****I'm going to smile and make you think I'm happy, I'm going to laugh, so you don't see me cry, I'm going to let you go in style, and even if it kills me- I'm going to smile." **_  
_**__****-Lonestar**

"So," Grandpa spoke up, breaking the angry silence, "I see you two've hit it off great."

He'd gotten off work early tonight, and unfortunately had forgotten to bring armor with him. The only audible response was the sound of angry clinking forks. Grandpa looked from Logan to me before speaking again.

"This is a delicious casserole," he paused, staring at Logan. "Don't you think so?"

"I've had better."

"Yeah Grandpa," I piped up. "Didn't you know? Logan's only accustom to the _best_."

"Yes, I am." He dropped his fork angrily. "And to be frank, this doesn't even come near it!"

"What don't you go smooch that rich, bratty Brooke of yours?" I stood heatedly dropping my fork on the table carelessly.

"Well at least that would be much better than this dang casserole!" he followed my actions, and then looked at Grandpa apologetically. "I'm sorry, I've got to run. Good evening sir."

Once I heard the door shut and his truck start, I grabbed my plate with an angry huff. I began clearing off the table, not even looking at what I was picking up.

"Hey," Grandpa spoke up; keeping a tight grip on the plate I was trying to take. "I'm not done with that!"

"Sorry,"

"What's gotten into you two?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. I'm just peachy." I threw the wet rag into the sink angrily and began washing dishes with fury.

"Never mind," he took another bite, mumbling to himself. "I don't wanna know."

***

I slammed the door of his Lexus, hoping that I'd somehow magically acquired super-strength and that the door would fall right off its hinges. Stomping towards the front door, I could hear him slam the car door and follow after me.

"Hey, and watch how you shut the door!"

"Why don't you watch your face? If you saw it about as half as much as we had to, you'd realize why I'm slamming doors on you!"

"Huh? What kind of a come-back is that?"

"One that was obviously too advanced for your forgetful pea-brain to understand!"

"My pea-brain?" he repeated.

"Yes, your pea-brain Einstein! I don't believe I stuttered!" I turned stomping up my front porch steps; he followed, stopping at the bottom of them.

"You are such a—!"

"A what?" I screamed, challenging him.

"You're such a typical woman!"

"Hah!" I chuckled. "Well good, because last time I checked, that's what I was!"

"Well at least I don't chew my food like a cow chewing cud!"

"At least I don't look like one!"

"You know what?" he yelled infuriated. "Go inside!"

"Wow, I'm glad you can actually remember where inside is! I was planning on doing that before you and your pea-brain said so!"

"Just leave!"

"You know what Garret?" I turned, speaking softly, then screamed at the top of my lungs. "That's the smartest thing you've said all evening! Good night!" I paused reaching for the door before turning around again. "This is my house!"

"So what?" he yelled back.

"You leave! Get off my property!"

"Fine Miss _Gass_idy, I'd be honored to leave your stench-filled presence."

The nearest thing to me was deserted plate, perched on one of our chairs, with only a fork left upon it. Angrily, I picked it up and hurled it at the back of his head –with perfect aim, I daresay-. It hit him square on, and Garret turned, picking up the fork. He launched it back at me, with barely half the precision, before jumping in his car and speeding out of the driveway.

My parents were on the couch, in the middle of a scary scene, when I opened the door, and let out a huge, angry 'Arg!'. Both jump, frightened eyes fixated upon me. I hardly noticed them as I kicked off my shoes, grumbling frivolously while I stormed up the stairs to my room.

"Stupid, moronic, imbecilic, dumb-witted—!" I'd been pulling off my clothes to get into my pajamas, when my outstretched hand hit the ceiling fan. "Ugh! Holy freaking' son-of-a-one-eyed-prairie-dog!" I fell to the ground, cradling my hand

After a moment or two, I looked down at my hand; it was turning a purple shade. I turned my injured hand over and over again, before walking downstairs for a zip-lock bag of ice. All the while my parents watched me go from the stairs to the kitchen and back again, total confusion written across their faces. Once back in my room, I turned on my floor fan to tune out my grumbling. I flicked the lights off, hopped in bed, and stared at my ceiling.

He was so stupid. It was July third, my birthday, and he'd asked me to go out with him tonight. Like any other girl, I thought: 'Hey, my boyfriend's so sweet. He's taking me out for my birthday! What a caring thought!', but no! We go out to a restaurant and he didn't so much as mention my birthday, in fact, he said that he'd recently got promoted with his job –now manager- and that that was the reason for our celebration. Then, he had called my by the wrong name, and if that wasn't enough, the nickname he called me by was Mace, as if it was the most natural thing in the world!

"Oh my bad," he'd said. "I meant Cass."

Those names weren't very identical enough to call it a simple miss-hap and that was where I drew the line. I had put up with listening to his 'all about me' praise and what not all day, then this _Mace_ crap pops up; I was a volcano ready to erupt.

"Mace?" I stood, taking the napkin off my lap –it had protected my brand new LBD, little black dress, I'd worn just for the occasion- and began to slide the tiny matching purse over my shoulder.

"I meant Cass," he repeated. "My bad, sorry. Now will you please sit down and stop making a scene?"

"No, I won't _sit down_," I spoke calmly; the restaurant wasn't crowded and no one paid attention to us, but continued eating their food undisturbed, oh yeah, big scene. "Oh, and by the way, congratulations on the promotion, but if you could stop thinking about yourself for more than two seconds to realize it's a special day for me to."

"Oh really, is it throw-a-hissy-fit-because-it's-not-all-about-me-for-one day?"

"You know, having a birthday usually gives people the right to have a day all about them, but you wouldn't know what it's like to share the limelight now would you?" I began to walk out of the restaurant; I'd made it outside the building before he caught up with me.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"And how do you plan on getting there?"

"Any way possible, why it should be your concern, I have no idea. It's _your_ day to celebrate _your_ promotion. Go on; don't bother wasting it on me."

"C'mon," he spoke angrily. "Get in the car." He reached for my arm, barely grazing it.

"No," I pulled away from him. "Don't touch me."

"Get in the car!" he yelled, grabbing my arm, dragging me to the car. He threw me in the passenger's seat, causing the seat-belt buckle to dig painfully into my side, before slamming the door abruptly in my face.

The tense energy that filled the tiny space inside the car was thick enough to cut it with a knife. We both stayed deathly silent, neither audacious enough to speak, let alone turn on the radio. I didn't so much as cough to clear my throat for fear of seeing him that furious again. He drove wildly, tires squealing when he'd hit the gas too hard. I kept myself as close to my door as possible, only filling half of my seat. My side throbbed from where I'd hit the buckle, but I didn't dare let out a sigh or whimper. We soon arrived home, and as fast as I could, I jumped from the car.

I glanced up at my ceiling, reminiscing on the night, searching for clues as to any mistakes I may have made. Except for my one pitiful come-back, I couldn't find a problem, this time it was all on him.

As an alternative to keeping my mind on past events, I looked toward the future, or well, tomorrow. It would be the Fourth of July, meaning my mom would be throwing her annual party –the biggest bash she threw-. Everyone would be coming, her friends, mine, my dad's, family's; she'd hired the works, as she usually did. We had someone bring out a carload of fireworks, someone to put on the fireworks show, a caterer, mechanical bull –don't ask about that tradition-, inflatable's, and so much more…

I groaned, as I rolled over on my side, my newly found bruise from the car, was pressured. Annoyed, I turned over on my stomach. Garret's family of course had been invited, if I was lucky he wouldn't dare show his face. Lucky for me, each of the guys were coming, so even if he did come, I'd have a distraction as well as back-up. Not tired, I reached over, grabbing my iPod. Popping it in my ears, I pulled the covers over my head and let the music cradle me to sleep inside my sanctuary.

Noise floated up to my room, causing me to dig deeper into my covers, the people my mom had hired for the event were busy downstairs setting up. Drifting back and forth between dreams and reality, I stayed in my bed, not bothering to venture downstairs. Only when my mom dragged me out my room, did I bother to offer a hand.

As the day drug on and on, I began to get edgy, nervous even. When the clock hit six thirty, my mom hurried me upstairs to make myself presentable. The boys were the first to arrive, followed by an array families and middle-aged couples. My worst fears came true when I was Garret and his family walked in the door. For the first time, it seemed to me that he actually appeared out of place, like a puzzle piece that doesn't match up.

Garret looked over at me and smiled, slightly waving. I turned away from him, focusing on my protectors around me. They'd already learned about the bruise I received from him when they went to give me one of their bear hugs, which sent them into a rage when laying eyes on the bruise -four finger's width-. I could feel them tense up next to me, yet they kept the conversation light and mild, offering me a drink every so often.

"Cassidy," I felt a hand lay on my shoulder.

"What," I didn't bother turning around; I already knew who it was and had no interest in speaking to him.

"Could I speak with you in private for a moment?"

"I don't know, can you?" Hal laughed while taking a swig from the cup he held, at my English joke, and ended up coughing.

Garret looked annoyed. Good.

"Cassidy, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"

"No, you may not." I fiddled with the red, white, and blue umbrella that had been placed in the glass.

"Cass, please?"

"If you'll not bother me anymore, fine." I heaved a breath and handed my drink to Dylan, who took it willingly, as well as a sip from it.

I followed him out to the front porch, away from the festivities, not bothering to take the outstretched hand. We stood out there in silence for a while, yards apart. He stayed on the opposite side of the porch, not wanting to get near me. After five minutes of nothing, I decided to leave.

"Well if that's all, I'll be leaving."

"Wait," he reached out, holding my wrist gently.

"Then say what it is you wanted to say." I pulled away, turning to gaze at the pink's and purple's of the sunset.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry for being so selfish last night. I didn't even bother to think of you, let alone remember your birthday. My behavior was unnecessary and uncalled for. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

I stayed silent, trying to hold my own, to stay strong.

"Cass?" he reached out touching my arm, not bothering to remove his hand.

"What?" was all I could get out.

"Would you forgive me?" his thumb began to gently rub my arm, as his other hand lay at my waist.

Garret came up behind me holding me gently. I could feel his chest against my back and breathe in his sweet scent; everything about him was warm and welcoming.

"Well?" he spoke patiently.

I fought in my head. He knew I loved to be held like this. I lay back, resting against him completely trusting.

"I forgive you." My voice sounded so unstable compared to his.

He laughed softly at my trembling, wrapping his arms completely around me till I was warm and secure.

"I love you," he whispered in my ear.

I let out a deep breath, and then breathed in his sweet scent again.

That had been the first time he'd ever vocally said 'I love you' to me, as well as our first major argument. As the sun set slowly behind the clouds, firecrackers could be heard in the distance. In the back of my mind, I silently wished that even though first's were amazing, that there would be more to come in the near future. That the future held more _I love yous_ and more sunset's exactly like this, for Garret and I.

"Oh, and by the way," he took his right hand and reached into his pocket, then dropped something over my head, clipping it in the back. My fingertips felt a small white gold heart, turning it over in my fingers; it was beautiful and delicate to the touch. "Happy birthday."


End file.
